


Always: The Tale of the Half-Blood Prince

by Jazzy3113



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 173,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzy3113/pseuds/Jazzy3113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tale of the Half-Blood Prince.</p><p>A misanthrope. Misunderstood, but undeniably brilliant. His meteoric rise as a Death Eater. His reluctant initiation into the Order of the Phoenix. His adventures with the two greatest wizards in magical history – Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. His love for Lily, his loathing for James. His complicated relationship with Harry. And how was he able to hoodwink the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?</p><p>From his clandestine hilltop plea of Dumbledore to his Shrieking Shack summons by the Dark Lord...intertwined with vignettes from others. </p><p>Dumbledore's pensieve could not show it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Only One He Ever Feared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus makes a plea for help.

**Always:**

**The Tale of the Half-Blood Prince  
**

_Inspired by_

_Chapter 2 of the Half-Blood Prince: Spinner's End_

_&_

_Chapter 33 of the Deathly Hallows: The Prince's Tale_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**The Only One He Ever Feared**

The castle stood tall against the dark night sky, a silent sentinel keeping watch over a sprawling school campus. It was a large, seven story high building built from ancient magic as much as from stone and mortar. Its walls and crenellations were dotted with rock towers and shingled turrets, the greatest of which was a high and lofty Astronomy Tower. Gargoyle statues sat perched on stone ledges, glaring down on a large open courtyard, sloping green lawns and a steep cliff side. A lush, thick forest and a great blue lake were the castle's steadfast neighbors – the three old friends ensconced deep within the Scottish highlands.

Castles were first constructed in the 9th century, ingeniously created by master stonemasons to provide protection and succor, and the majestic Hogwarts castle was no different. It was founded by the Hogwarts Four, the most brilliant wizards and witches of their time. The castle had survived floods and famines, earthquakes and storms; it had persevered through the rise and fall of governments, empires and kings. But tonight the castle faced its greatest threat – Lord Voldemort and his Death Eater legion.

The normally serene campus had been transformed into a nightmare, the school was engulfed in flames, blood and terrible screams. The famous Quidditch pitch stood ruined and wretched; the gentle blue waters of the Great Lake had distorted into a dark crimson hue; the fearsome Forbidden Forest was now splintered and broken; the walls of castle stood blistered and cracked. Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, men and child alike, lay dead, dying and wounded. Cries pierced the night air, more animal than human. Other parts of the castle lay silent and destroyed, a small memory of what they once were.

A small band of loyalists fought dutifully to hold the dark attackers at bay, helped along by the very castle itself, which was imbued with a deep and ancient magic sworn to protect its youthful charges. The fate of the wizarding world – the whole world – lay in the balance of what transpired this night. A maniacal despot could reign forever under the auspices of an iron fist, or a young boy could lead the magical world into a new, peaceful future.

High above the din and clamor of the battle rested the Headmaster's Tower, and at the very top of the tower lay the Headmaster's office. It could only be accessed through the long Gargoyle Corridor and would only open for the school's true and rightful leader, and to those who knew his password.

A large rosewood door led into the office, which itself was a large circular room with countless windows and portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses. The grandest of these portraits hung behind a magnificent desk, and it was filled with the figure of a tall wizard in a stark purple robe, who sported a long white beard and wire rimmed glasses. He was wiry thin, with a crooked nose and sunken cheeks. His bespectacled eyes were a brilliant sky blue and usually twinkled with equal parts benevolence and mischief, but tonight they were filled with worry and anxiety, and were currently focused on the only person in the room – a pale, skinny man with long, greasy black hair who paced restlessly around the office.

"This is madness," barked Severus Snape. "I'll not stay here a moment longer while my castle bleeds!"

"You must," cried the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. "You cannot risk harm or capture just yet."

"Even in death you pull your invisible strings? You mean for me to die at precisely the right moment? Just like the boy?"

"There are things only you know, important things that you must tell him before…"

Snape wheeled around to look up at the gilded portrait, a look of pure loathing etched upon his sallow face. He pointed a skinny finger at a glass vial resting atop an old stone basin in a corner of the room. "I've left memory threads for her child to find. The office will seal itself when I leave and only open for the boy. He'll know it all if he makes it up here."

"But how will he know to come here Severus?"

"He won't unless you let me go and find him!"

"No, the risk is too great and we've come too far…"

"So that's it, is it? I'm your back up plan if the boy falls?"

The portrait Dumbledore gazed down in earnest upon the current Hogwarts' Headmaster, but not a word escaped his painted lips.

"I danced faithfully to your tune in life, but in death I must be my own man."

"Please listen to me," beseeched the portrait. "Stay the course…"

Loud explosions rocked and echoed in the distance, mingled with screams of delight and terror. Snape's nose scrunched up in disgust at the sound and his eyes glazed over with black.

"I cannot stay here while others face death, I will not stay hidden up in this tower any longer. I'm done straddling the two worlds…I must go Headmaster."

Snape turned to leave, but leapt back in shock as the great wood door swung inward and a wreck of a man poured in. He was bloodied battered, with a pointed face and pale straw hair. His eyes were blue with flecks of green and gold. His robes were tattered and burnt, his face dotted with plum colored bruises and red scrapes. His cracked lips were split and caked with blood and his voice quivered when he spoke, "Severus, thank the Gods. He…He wants you…now!"

"Where?"

"The shack…on the edge of campus…the filthy haunted hovel! He waits for you there!" Lucius Malfoy looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore staring calmly at him, but voiced no questions. His eyes flicked back to Snape, but it was Dumbledore who answered.

"Thank you for your message Lucius, you may leave us now. Go and look for your son, last I saw he was fighting on the fifth floor near the southern most spire."

Lucius' stared up at the portrait with uncomprehending eyes, stunned.

"Go now, you fool! Before Draco falls and never rises again," hissed Snape and Lucius swept out of the room as if a demon chased at his heels.

Snape turned to face his mentor, fear slowly creeping up his collar and washing red over his face.

Minutes later Snape found himself walking alone towards the Whomping Willow, towards the greatest Dark wizard of all time; the night air was filled with the din and echoes from the raging battle of Hogwarts. Every blast, every explosion, every bang – they pierced right through his pale skin and into his heart. They're killing my castle, my true home, and I can't do a damn thing about it.

Snape had only come this way twice before in his life and both times death had reached out for him and barely missed; he prayed its cold grasp strayed just one more time, for he still had miles to go and promises to keep. But a sinking feeling had wormed its way deep into his gut, a deep seated fear was yelling at him to turn around and run, to run away and melt into the shadows and never come back. But he could not. No matter how he tried to prove otherwise, Severus Snape was no coward.

The forlorn and lonely walk through the trees to the shack's secret entrance reminded the current Hogwarts Headmaster of another night, long ago, when he was on his way to meet another great wizard…to plead for help…to implore for forgiveness…to entreat for a second chance he knew he did not deserve…

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night.

An icy wind whipped back and forth, a frozen rope slashing the air and sending an eerie whistling through a black forest. A young man stumbled amongst leafless trees, pushing his way towards an open hilltop that stretched out before him. The night air was chilly and dry, yet the man's black robes were drenched in a nervous sweat and clung stubbornly to his stringy frame.

The young man was not tall, but not short, with a high forehead and pasty white skin. His hair was jet black, matching the starry night sky and he had to keep brushing shoulder-length greasy strands from his eyes as the wind swept over him. Hoarfrost clung to his hooked nose and his uneven yellowish teeth were chattering uncontrollably – from the icy wind or from an ominous sense of foreboding, it was hard to tell.

The man's nervous apprehension was palpable, hanging thick in the air and choking all other emotion – a sickly sallow-skinned vampire fleeing from impending sunrise. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if an unseen attacker might spring up at any moment, an evil spectre that lurked in the shadows. A strange fear emanated from him, infecting the very air of the dark forest.

Panic stricken thoughts jumbled around in his head, his mind racing a mile a minute. Did my message get through unnoticed? Will he help me save her? Can I leave this clandestine hilltop alive?

As he reached the summit of the hill, Severus… _Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or someone…Then a blinding, jagged jet_ _of white light flew through the air…Snape had dropped to his knees_ _and his wand had flown out of his hand._

_"Don't kill me!"_

_"That was not my intention."_

_Any sound of Dumbledore apparating had been drowned by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him, and his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand._

_"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"_

_"No_ _–_ _no message_ _–_ _I'm here on my own account!"_

_Snape was wringing his hands: He looked a little mad, with his straggling black hair flying around him._

_"I_ _–_ _I come with a warning_ _–_ _no, a request_ _–_ _please_ _–_ _"_

_Dumbledore flicked his wand. Though leaves and branches still flew through the night air around them, silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced each other._

_"What request could a Death Eater make of me?"_

_"The_ _–_ _the prophecy . . . the prediction . . . Trelawney . . ."_

_"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?"_

_"Everything_ _–_ _everything I heard!" said Snape. "That is why_ _–_ _it is for that reason_ _–_ _he thinks it means Lily Evans!"_

_"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," said Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July_ _–_ _"_

_"You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down_ _–_ _kill them all_ _–_ _"_

_"If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"_

_"I have_ _–_ _I have asked him_ _–_ _"_

_"You disgust me," said Dumbledore…contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little. "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"_

_Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore._

_"Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her_ _–_ _them_ _–_ _safe. Please."_

_"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"_

_"In_ _–_ _in return?" Snape gaped at Dumbledore…but after a long moment he said, "Anything."…_

… Albus Dumbledore towered menacingly over his former pupil, his vivid blue eyes drinking in the pathetic wretch of a man – Snape lay crouched on the ground like a wounded animal, desperation dripping off him like heavy steam. Dumbledore raised a palm to the surrounding trees – he didn't sense another magical presence, could not taste even the faintest trace of dark magic in the air, but something still rankled the great wizard, an itch he could not quite scratch – something just didn't feel right.

Dumbledore had been searching in vain to for a way to penetrate Lord Voldemort's inner circle, the infamous bloody legion of Death Eaters. Over the years a handful of wizards and witches had sought out the famous Headmaster to provide them a safe haven after deserting the Dark Lord, but they had been too terrified to return and feed Dumbledore new information.

Cultivating a spy in the Death Eater camp was not difficult, it was impossible. Traitors and deserters were tortured for weeks on end if caught – strong motivation to stay loyal no matter how grave one's misgivings might become. And the Dark Lord was an incredible Legilimens, he could root out any flicker of duplicity from one of his soldiers in an instant.

But maybe, just maybe, this troubled young man could finally provide me a way inside…

"You think me a fool?! Luring me to this deserted hilltop for a surprise attack?! Tell me now, this very instant – when will the Dark Lord arrive?!"

Snape cowered like a scared child, his head cradled in his pale hands.

"It's me…only me. I came here tonight to ask you – no, to beg you – please, save her life…and…and the lives of her family. He believes her death – her son's death – will make Him invincible for all time."

Sybill's secret prophecy…it _had_ been Severus eavesdropping – that long ago night had sent such violent events into motion. Was my former charge to be believed? A hardened Death Eater showing remorse, true concern for another? Unlikely.

All of the former dark soldiers who came to Dumbledore for help were motivated by one thing and one thing only, self-preservation. They had failed or angered the Dark Lord in some manner and feared the coming retribution. But this boy claims to fear for the life of another? How well does he even know the Potters?

"Severus," commanded Dumbledore, "Look at me."

The Headmaster bent down and tilted up the frightened young man's face up. His bespectacled blue eyes hardened and glazed over as he peered into dark black pools that were slowly filling with hot tears.

"Let me see Severus. Don't hide anything, don't be afraid…release yourself."

Snape had been so scared for so long, all confused and twisted up inside himself, had been alone for so long with his doubts and secrets – it was easy for him to let go and release his natural defenses. All of a sudden he felt an urge to laugh and unburden himself to someone, to anyone, to this man standing before him.

He was a guilty man yearning to give his long awaited confession – he had carried many secrets for far too long. He looked past the white beard and crooked nose, into the piercing blue yonder and held nothing back. He felt a tingling as Dumbledore slipped into his mind like a warm bath and gently began walking through his memory house, opening up all the doors…

* * *

Headmaster and former student sat unmolested at the back of a grimy bar, for the few other patrons there that night were too busy nursing their drinks and ruminating on unrealized dreams to take any notice of their surroundings. Snape slouched low in his chair, crestfallen and drained from the night's events. Crusty bread and home brewed mead sat on the table before him, invitingly warm yet untouched.

Dumbledore was back to his usual cheery disposition, a different person entirely than the tightly controlled ball of fury that had flamed hot on the lonely hilltop just an hour ago. With a playful smile, he tucked into a steaming bowl of Shepard's pie, but his bright blue eyes belied his calm demeanor – he continued to clinically appraise the pathetic excuse for a man slumped before him.

"You've been busy since you left my school Severus. Done some terrible things, if I'm to believe what I've just borne witness to."

Snape looked away, hot shame coloring his pale face – his gaze swept across the bar and settled on the tall oafish barkeep grumpily wiping a dirty mug with a dirtier rag…he looked so familiar…Snape snapped his head back to Dumbledore. His vulnerability had suddenly vanished, sullen arrogance now resided in its place.

"It was – it is – war. I did what I thought was right at the time, what I believed would help the wizarding world. Did what I had to do…to…to survive the maddening times we live in."

"Madness that you and your friends have brought forth upon us all," replied Dumbledore. He was always so frustratingly calm, expect for earlier – Snape had never seen such ferocity before and it scared him, almost as much as the Dark Lord did.

"Are you going to protect her? If the prophecy is to be believed, her son is the answer you've been searching for lo' these many years. Send her a warning now – before it's too late!"

"Am I expected to believe that one of the rising stars in the Death Eater legion is going to turn on his master for a muggle born witch? Surely you must think me a fool, I expected more of a ploy from you."

"This is no ploy, no underhanded trick! You're wasting time, warn her! I beg you!"

"The youngest initiate into the Death Eater ranks, rumor even has it you're quickly becoming someone he can trust, even confide in. Why give all that up, why run away when you're on the verge of becoming the right hand of destiny? Tell me Severus, what is it that you truly want from me?"

Snape began absentmindedly rubbing his left forearm, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Then he looked up into the piercing blue orbs, shining through half-moon spectacles.

"I just want her safe, to be left in peace. He must not be allowed to find her Dumbledore. This is what I want, all that I want. I opened up and showed you everything, everything! My darkest secrets – I held nothing back," hissed Snape.

Yes, you've shown me everything – of that I'm sure. Fears, humiliations, insecurities…the loneliness…the abuse of your youth. You could become my most powerful weapon yet, young Master Snape. But is this what you truly want? I kept an eye on you during your studies, and had no idea of some of the events that I witnessed in your mind. Unsettling, most unsettling, how much goes on at Hogwarts without me being any the wiser.

"Would you like some dessert? Despite the unkempt decor, the food is quite scrumptious," Dumbledore replied as he patted his bulging belly.

"No! I don't want any bloody dessert! This isn't a game!" screeched Snape as he stood up in a huff, barely drawing any glances from the other patrons. The tall bartender also paid the curious scene no mind, casually flicking his wand and watching it emit smoky wisps.

"Very well, Severus. Very well. Now let's go over it one more time – what will you say?"

"His brother is openly in league with you and the Order and it's well known that Sirius and I didn't get along in school and have a personal vendetta. I've made numerous objections to his initiation."

"Yes, you've said. You'd lose the record as the youngest person to be awarded entrance to the inner circle."

"That's not the reason and you know it," barked Snape as he strode to the door. Without looking back, he stepped outside and Dumbledore heard the familiar pop of apparition. He looked down at his empty plate and let out a contented sigh.

"I think I'll be having my desert to go, if you please. Anything but that goat inspired cake you served me last time."

* * *

Snape appeared onto an empty street, next to a gleaming black sign with gold lettering that read: 12 Grimmauld place. Jubilant voices and soft music floated out to him from a cobblestone house – the initiation after party was in full swing.

It was a stroke of luck that the Dark Lord was overseas at this very moment, Snape's absence tonight might not ever reach His ears. Someone had mentioned a sighting in Albania, but those reports could never be verified. As the ranks of the Death Eaters swelled Lord Voldemort did not have time to be present at every initiation – but He always made sure to "bless" each mark, making certain each of his soldiers were connected to Him. The dark mark was a living organism – it allowed each Death Eater to feel His wrath, to be summoned at will, and connected each follower to the Dark Lord for all eternity.

Snape composed himself, burying the events of the past two hours deep down inside of him. He raised his left forearm and walked towards an enchanted metal gate lining the front of the house – the metals bars melded into the night air and Snape felt as though he had just walked through a gust of warm air as he walked through the gate.

His knock at the front door was answered quickly by a very old, but spry house elf. It bowed low and quickly let the young man into the house, happily muttering to itself.

"Severus! Done sulking are we," smiled a fat wizard as Snape slinked into a large drawing room. The merriment and alcohol was flowing freely this evening – a party was in full swing with 16 year old Regulus Black in the middle of the happy bedlam, his parents proudly fawning all over him. Death Eaters and initiate Acolytes were dancing and drinking together, celebrating and welcoming their new little brother.

A chalet of mead was thrust into Snape's hand and he skulked off to a corner to watch the revelry unfold, at unease in the large party. He was always anxious at social gatherings and never felt relaxed enough to let his guard down and enjoy himself, even when he was among his dark brothers in arms.

Glancing around the room, Snape caught the eye of a tall blonde man. His skin was creamy white, as if it were glistening marble. His coiffed golden hair draped just past his shoulders in a carefree look, but Snape knew it was deliberate. The man's handsome arrogance was matched by the beautiful blonde witch holding onto the crook of his arm.

Lucius Malfoy smiled widely as he laughed at something, his mouth of full of straight white teeth – his appearance in complete juxtaposition to the brooding Snape. He caught Snape's eye and casually flicked his head toward the stairs. Snape downed his mead, shuffled to his feet and left the drawing room, up the stairs to the second floor landing and through a closed door down a long hallway.

A smoky fire was crackling in the back of a dark room, filling the air with a burnt taste, and a witch and wizard sat before it, staring into the orange flames. They made a handsome couple, in a dark glamor, gothic sort of way. The witch waved her hand and an Acolyte got up from a corner and soundlessly left the room, giving Snape a tight smile as she swept past him.

Long raven black hair framed the witch's cherubic face as she stood up and glared at Snape. At first glance she appeared beautiful, with an oval face and long straight hair. Perfectly symmetrical features and a shapely body that tapered to a slim waist. But her eyes were full of ardent fervor, a pure blood devotee. The fanatical zeal twisted her beauty into an ugly veneer and a shiver slid down Snape's back.

"Where have you been…Snake," growled Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Rodolphus – is this how you let your wife speak to a fellow believer?" Snape glanced to the curly dark haired wizard still seated in a high backed chair, Rodolphus Lestrange pretended not to hear. It was well known who the man in the Lestrange marriage was.

"Answer me! Or answer to Him!"

"I have stated many times before and will once again. Regulus is a mere child, a baby, and should barely be given consideration to joining the cause as an initiate Acolyte, let alone allowed to become a fully-fledged Death Eater. But naturally, because he's a Black, he gets special treatment and his shortcomings are overlooked."

"Is that so, Severus? And you know better than the Dark Lord I presume? Are you questioning His judgement?"

"Arguing with you every time we cross paths is getting tiresome, Bellatrix. The fight is out there, not with me. I have proven myself time and again for the cause."

"You're barely twenty yourself, no more than an overgrown boy. I've been with Him from the start. Do not lecture me…"

Snape raised his hand. "Bella, I was against the initiation and upset. I decided to skip the ceremony, but realized I was behaving like a petulant child and came back to pay my respects. If you want to disturb Him with the news of this amazing development, please, be my guest."

"Yes, only a few of us have the ability to summon Him. That power has not been granted to everyone, has is it Snake?" Bellatrix pretended to ponder her next move, but Snape knew she would not dare bother the Dark Lord over such a petty matter. "You can leave us now, but if you're whereabouts are unaccounted for again, He will be told!"

"Bellatrix, Rodolphus, enjoy your evening," Snape bowed facetiously as he moved towards the door. "My congratulations again to the illustrious Black family."

Snape exited the room and found Lucius waiting for him, a bored look on his chiseled face.

"So, what did the tempestuous devil want?"

"Chastised me for skipping the initiation. Never misses a chance to remind me of how young and useless I am."

"Don't you worry Severus, you're under my charge now. Ever since you came back that night, the Dark Lord has seemed…energized. It's been a flurry of activity since, He's had groups of us working at both ends, tracking down all sorts of things. Just the other day I captured a famous astrologist for him. Very pleased he was, very pleased. Tell me, what happened that night? What did you tell him?"

Snape headed towards the party, keeping his eyes on the stairs in front of him.

"Lucius, I will forever be in your debt after all you've done for me. But to betray the Dark Lord's confidence…" Snape lowered his voice to a whisper. "I could tell you, but if he found out his anger would be terrible to behold – for the both of us."

"Yes, yes, of course. Was just testing you Severus." Lucius mockingly patted Snape on the head. "Come now, let's join the festivities. Narcissa has quite a charming friend she can introduce you to. Just try smiling for once."

Snape followed Lucius back into the raucous drawing room, his usual sullen look masking his face.

Navigating the politics and parties of high society was a talent a Malfoy must be born with, for I'd rather be locked away in a lab room. Lucius had always been arrogant, even back when we were in school. Even when he was condescending to others, they still strived to gain his approval, still yearned to be in his company. Even I find myself drawn to his charisma, it's no wonder he's one of the Dark Lord's favorites.

"Wait here Severus, let me find Narcissa and her friend. And Severus," Lucius gave an obsequious smile that reminded Snape of a long black eel he had once seen as a boy on a school trip to an aquarium, "You were quite right, never reveal to anyone what you told the Dark Lord that night…"


	2. A Good Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord sends Severus on a fool's errand.

**Chapter 2**

**A Good Soldier**

The tall pale man stared deeply into a large oval mirror, narrow eyes burning red and coldly appraising the skeletal reflection in the smudged glass. How far I've come…and how far there is still to go.

The path to absolute power and everlasting immortality was a winding, fickle road. The confident boy had matured into a proud man, who had now begun a painful metamorphosis and would soon transform into something the world had never seen. This straw king was imposing and broad shouldered, his build teetering somewhere between athletic and lanky. His eyes were not quite slits, yet not quite oval; the whites of his scarlet pupils had a permanently bloody look; his features were avuncular and mask like at the same time. His once ruddy skin had become waxy and discolored, pale as the first snow.

It appeared as if he were slowly de-evolving back to a prehistoric skeletal frame, with a trace of serpentine qualities. His inner essence was slowly tearing apart, his humanity receding further and further away. There was something unnerving and disquieting about his demeanor, as if evil itself was emanating from each breath he stole.

The pale man sensed one of his faithful servants approaching and quietly pulled the hood of his dark green robe back over his hairless head.

In his youth the man had been called handsome, striking, even beautiful. Capable of charming and seducing all types of women – and men for that matter – in order to ferret out what he wanted, to gleam all that he desired. But as his magical reservoir of power grew, his weapons of guile and seduction faded away and were soon replaced by threats and outright intimidation.

He stepped onto a small dais and sat down on a high backed black marble chair – a mini throne for the would-be straw king – and faced an old paneled door. Hesitant footsteps padded closer and closer…and then came a gentle knock.

"Come in," hissed Lord Voldemort. His voice was a mixture of a raspy octave and a serpentine hiss. He spoke softly, yet when he did no one ever failed to hear or understand him. His voice had the uncanny ability to carry to all corners of a room, no matter how big or small the space.

A stringy, ashen-faced man quietly slipped into the room. His shoulder length greasy black hair sat atop an angular face. His hooked nose was the most prominent feature on his scowling face, along with keen, calculating eyes that darted around the room. They were dark pools, black as night and full of wary intelligence – impenetrable as the dead of night, except to the most accomplished of wizards. Voldemort looked into the eyes and was always surprised to find how much this boy reminded him of his former self.

The Dark Lord had been an orphan in the truest sense of the word – an indifferent father who never even spared a thought about his offspring and a wretched mother who gave up on the world, on herself and on her young son. He was cunning and exceedingly shrewd. Ancient and powerful wizarding blood flowed through his veins. Capable of inventing new spells, new potions, new uses for old tricks. Selfish and hungry for power – a deep yearning desire to gain respect and fear from others.

Yes, I share many qualities with this scared young man.

Lord Voldemort had been wary of letting young Severus Snape get too close to him, something about the boy rankled him. But eventually, as with all men, he had discovered the boy's weaknesses. No one can hide their desires and fears from me!

The boy was insecure, and struggled with bouts of depression and intense pangs of loneliness. He could not let go of perceived slights or rise above insignificant and petty quarrels. And above all this boy wanted to be safe, to feel protected, he wanted to…belong. And that was what Lord Voldemort could offer him. That is what He could offer to all of them. The opportunity to be part of something bigger than themselves, to belong, to have a home.

"You called for an audience with me, my Lord?"

"Yes Severus…I did. What has kept you?"

"I came at once my Lord. I was only just told – no more than an hour ago. I apparated to Townson Square and then had to be told of this location, I swear it! Mulciber was late in meeting me!"

"I see…I will speak to him later…if what you say is true…"

Voldemort enjoyed playing games with his servants, always testing and pitting them against each other at every opportunity. I must always sow suspicion and discord, they should never feel as if they can trust anyone but me. Disharmony and suspicion made all his followers ill at ease with one another – always kept them on edge. Only the Dark Lord could ever be completely trusted – they must never forget this!

"Now…to the matter at hand. I have been pleased, very pleased, with your…performance as of late."

Snape knelt down to one knee and bowed his head. "Thank you, my Lord. I live only to serve."

"Yes, your initiation ceremony was especially…impressive. Most of my Death Eaters choose a random wizard or muggle to…assist in their initiation. But you chose someone so close to you. Most impressive…Severusss."

Snape began to perspire, unconsciously locking the rooms in his memory house as his mind instinctively sensed danger. He had never had the privilege to be alone with the Dark Lord before. There were whispers that a private audience with his holiness meant rich rewards…or a painful death. Snape's mind raced – what was happening? Am I to be punished? Does He know?

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, my Lord. Always."

"Look at me!"

Snape felt his eyes snap open, forced to look up and drink in the red beams shooting out at him. Snape felt a cold finger snake its way up his spine as he locked eyes with the Dark Lord, a tickle scratched his throat and an uneasiness spread throughout him as a foreign presence entered his mind.

He had always admired the Dark Lord. Stronger than any dark wizard in history. A God walking the Earth. Pure blood champion of wizarding rights. Protector of the less fortunate and downtrodden. The Dark Lord had even shown kindness and welcome to half-bloods like himself. Unlike the unfair world, the Dark Lord ran a meritocracy. The hardest working, smartest and most able soldiers rose. There was no nepotism, no cronyism; although pure bloods were able to rise the fastest and were shown the most respect.

Snape had found a home amongst the dark brethren, he kept mostly to himself and stayed out of the way – he had no real friends anymore. No one knew where he came from or shameful half-blood origin. Only the Dark Lord knew, only He was privy to that secret. And what did it matter? Half-bloods were given ample opportunity to succeed in the dark legion. He even knew of a few, like him, that were bestowed Death Eater status.

Snape didn't fully comprehend the Dark Lord's ardent obsession with wiping out most of the mud bloods and muggles, but it was of no concern to Snape. The needs of the righteous few outweighed the needs of the unworthy many. He would help his brothers and sister make a better world for wizards, for humanity!

Snape stared unblinkingly into the Dark Lord's burning slits – stared resolutely into the malevolent fire. It was a terrifying, yet exhilarating feeling to have a private audience with the Dark Lord, an indescribable mix of emotions impossible to describe. One yearned to be near the Dark Lord and feel his dark presence, but there was also a pervading sense of fear. He could lash out violently at any moment, an angry viper always lurked just beneath the calm surface – like walking a swinging tightrope over a rock strewn ravine while a breeze blew overhead.

Reading another's mind is a challenging and difficult endeavor. Memories are layered one on top of the other and are ever changing – shifting sands in a winding hour glass. Food and drink, one's environment, even the passage of time, can cause true memories to change within the mind of an individual. The memory _itself_ is not always reliable and in some cases can be wrong, totally contradicting the actual events that had occurred. People tend to remember things how they want, unconsciously painting themselves in a more appealing light. Powerful wizards have been known alter their own memories from time and time, and some are rumored to be strong enough to even fight veritaserum.

Lord Voldemort had mastered the art of Legilimency and Occlumency as a young boy, even before he had graduated from Hogwarts. The mastery of these two related magical fields was an invaluable as he had embarked on his great quest – a long journey with the ultimate goal of collecting the world's rarest magical treasures, ancient items that would help protect his deepest secret. And if one wanted to find long lost possessions, there was no greater weapon then reading minds and possessing the subtle ability to ferret out truth buried within lies.

The Dark Lord entered the young man's mind and quickly found himself within Snape's memory house. He walked through the rooms on the first floor, grainy images of the boy's mundane life. He passed through the second floor without pause and entered the attic. He saw shifting images of a young child eating tossed out bread in the back of a bakery, a pale boy being teased while at Hogwarts, a teenager greedily spying on a girl while hidden amongst the bushes. Other snapshots of Snape floated around the room – enviously looking at other students, starting icily out over a blue lake as a girl stalked away from him, jumping out a window and leaving an angry old man shaking in his wake.

Voldemort glided back down the stairs and approached a basement door. Just then the house started to shake – doors slamming, windows breaking, walls cracking. It sounded as if some dark poltergeist was sweeping through the house, screaming to be noticed.

"Relax my servant, I already know what is kept there," Voldemort whispered while releasing the now nauseous young man from the mental grasp. "You are still deemed worthy…I have a task for you…and only you are suited for it."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape quickly replied, gasping for breath as if he had been running hard. He turned his head to the side and retched, but nothing came out. Embarrassed, he turned back to the Dark Lord red faced, but eager to receive a personal mission.

"Many years ago, in another lifetime, I visited the old fool at Hogwarts and requested something. It was denied to me and now I want you to get it for me."

"Yes, anything. What is it you seek, my Lord?"

"You will enquire about a teaching post at the school… I want you to convince the old fool to award you the position of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts."

Snape's hungry smile slipped off his face – this was not the great task he had envisioned to bring him honor.

Nott had been tasked to hunt down and kill Arthur Pemmly, the famous Auror. Rosier had been instructed to travel to America, to track down and recruit the renowned wizard warrior, Donovan Brent. My reward was to go back to Hogwarts? I've only just graduated, I'm too young to teach. Some of the students there would still remember me – they would remember my frequent humiliations at the hands of the gang of four.

"My Lord, of course I will do as you ask. But…uh…I think it may be difficult for me to win the position?" He hesitated and his answer stumbled out as a question.

"What is this," hissed Voldemort. His voice raised only an octave, but it sounded thunderous within the small room. "Your first response is one of weakness? Already an excuse on your lips?"

"No my Lord, it's just that…I know Dumbledore. He has…traditions. Yes, he's very keen to preserve the old ways. Teachers are typically much older than I am, much more experienced." Snape's mind raced to point out further obstacles to the plan, while still appearing servile and keen to please. "He detests our house, my Lord. Hates the Slytherin name. He's prejudiced against me, against all alum. And he has just hired Merriweather. Why would he ask him to leave the post so soon?"

"Could you not persuade him that you would be a better teacher?"

"I'm not as skilled a wizard as you are my Lord. I have nowhere near your power to…convince."

"Enough! Do not try to appeal to my vanity in such a ham handed way." Violence always lurked near the Dark Lord, bubbling just beneath the controlled surface – a latent ever-present emotion. "You will not obey?"

"No, of course not my Lord."

Voldemort stared down at the young boy with irritation. Of course, the old fool wouldn't hire him. But Snape would visit the school nonetheless – he wanted to dangle this vulnerable boy in front of the old fool. Dumbledore might even be tempted to try and save the young lad. Always trying to protect everyone, so quick to hand out second chances. He was so powerful, if only he could be persuaded to join me, to share in my vision…alas the old fool would never see reason.

Voldemort was quickly becoming accustomed to commanding his soldiers with threats of pain or, in rare instances, the promise of a rich reward. But with this boy, a tiny drop of honesty would provide the correct motivation. He was smart, maybe too smart, but fear is not always the best stimulus to inspire others.

"You think I've not already considered this? You dare to presume you know more than I do, can see farther than the Dark Lord?"

"No, of course not, my Lord. Please forgive me…I get…excited in your presence. I wasn't thinking clearly."

People were so easy to bend, mere palm trees swaying in my hurricane. "You're quite right Severus. I've considered the possible outcomes and have also concluded it unlikely for you to win him over. But should you succeed…well…your reward would be incalculable. I've the utmost confidence in your talents and see no reason you should fail me."

Snape looked up, pride and greed sharing the spotlight in his eyes. He soaked up the praise as his thoughts flew to all the possible rewards. Voldemort stared down at his servant and was reminded of a dog hungrily lapping up water.

"You shall seek an audience with Dumbledore immediately. I think you'll find that Merriweather has not been able to hold onto his teaching position. And you will make certain that the interview is conducted on Hogwarts ground."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Now listen closely Severus. Rappaport will give you a list of books I want taken from the school. Some may be in the library, some may lie in offices of the teachers – but I want those books."

"Yes my Lord." Snape stood up, eager to get started.

"And Severus, most importantly." Voldemort's mind flashed to the treasures he had hunted down over the years and transformed into lock boxes for his most prized possession. "I want the sword the old fool keeps in his office."

"My Lord?"

"Don't come back to me without the sword of Godric Gryffindor…"


	3. Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus reminisces about his first day at Hogwarts.

**Chapter 3**

**Don't Judge a Book by its Cover**

"Severus! Over here," called out Lucius Malfoy. He beckoned the pallid faced youth to join him and his beautiful wife with a freshly manicured, white-gloved hand. Severus Snape trudged over with a scowl on his face, still lost in his thoughts.

"What were you daydreaming about? Didn't you hear us," Narcissa Malfoy asked, an ever present coy smile playfully dancing on her lips. "Come, I want to introduce you to Beatrix Maclin. But first, please let me fix your hair. Lucius sweetheart, my wand if you please?"

An hour later, Snape slinked out of the party like a gloomy shadow. The witch had been truly beautiful, envious eyes followed her around the room as Snape had walked with her. She was a pure blood groupie, yearning to be part of the glamorous dark circle – Snape wondered how she would have reacted if he had told her about his muggle father. But the witch's gorgeous features and shapely waist had no effect on Snape, for memories of a red flower from long ago had begun to float in his thoughts, as they always did when he tasted alcohol.

"Watch where you're going! Idiot!"

Lost in his musings about Lily and the missed opportunities of his youth, Snape had walked straight onto the busy street. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and struggled to concentrate on an old, dilapidated house located on Spinner's End.

"Ouch!"

Snape had not focused hard enough…he had managed to apparate to his front steps, but had splinched his right bicep. His teeth clenched tight in an angry grimace as he quietly muttered an incantation to undo a protection enchantment on his front door and slipped inside the forlorn house.

He shed his now torn and bloodied traveling cloak and headed for a large sun room in the back of the house – his home potions lab. It was spick and span, giving off the sterile feeling one got from a surgical room. The lab was worn down, full of second hand furnishings and materials. A poor man's workshop – durable, spartanly decorated, good enough to get the job done with no extra bells or whistles. A large iron-cast cauldron and the oak table it rested on looked as if they had been made centuries ago, and the dusty books lining the walls appeared even older.

Snape had a fierce pride towards his humble lab as he had scraped together everything contained within through his own blood, sweat and tears. He had lied, cheated and even stole to acquire the rare ingredients housed within, and despite its shabby appearance the lab could produce potions of the highest caliber – it had even borne witness to the birth of ingenious original recipes. He picked up a glass vial and squinted, annoyed it empty.

Snape turned to a shelf of potted plants lining the back of the room and perused them till he spied a crumbling brown pot that held a leafy green plant and tore off a fresh root. As he began to chew the veiny sprig, his right bicep pulsed and stopped bleeding, the pain dulling to a low ache. He let the restorative effects of the plant wash over him and closed his tired eyes…

* * *

After receiving his "teaching" assignment from the Dark Lord, Severus Snape stole away from the dark room and headed down a creaky set of stairs. As he stepped out of the house, he heard a familiar pop and knew the Lord Voldemort had left for his next important endeavor. The Dark Lord constantly used different locations when issuing orders and preferred to leave immediately after, always staying one step ahead of the Ministry and the Order. Snape marveled at the Dark Lord's discipline – it was ruthless and unyielding and just one of the many reasons the man was the greatest dark wizard of all time.

Snape looked around the front yard, spotting an old discarded rake that appeared oddly out of place. As he took a step towards it, the rake began vibrating and a blueish hue emanated from it. Snape reached down and grabbed the rake – he felt as though a hook just behind his navel had suddenly been jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground and he propelled forward, a claustrophobic feeling enveloped him and just as he felt as though he would run out of air, his feet slammed down onto a rocky outcropping.

Snape dropped to a knee to catch his breath and found himself looking up at the ruins of an old castle, nestled high along a Scottish mountain range with a small village below it, populated with ancient pure blood wizarding families. Snape's left forearm flashed hot as climbed up to the ruins and crossed a small bridge. As he stepped off the bridge his forearm stopped burning and the wrecked ruins of the castle dramatically changed in front of his eyes. Whereas before the castle had appeared run down and long ago deserted, it now stood tall and complete, with a hub bub of activity buzzing within.

The iron stronghold always reminded Snape of a more striking and imposing version of the Hogwarts castle. It had once been ruled by a Baron with a fiery temper, a man who preferred using his sword rather than his tongue. A long ago rumor told a tale of the man going insane after one of his bloodthirsty rampages, of running to a faraway forest, mad with grief and regret. Another story told of the man killing himself in one the castle's towers, sentencing himself to a lifetime of ghostly penance. Whatever the truth, the house of Bartholomew fell into disrepair, avoided by the local townsfolk who believed it haunted, even evil. The Dark Lord had come calling one day, restoring it to its former glory and becoming its Secret Keeper. He had rechristened the bastion as Walpurgis Castle, but it was affectionately known by the Death Eaters as the Lair.

Snape moved through the castle grounds with purpose and pride, his sleeves on his robe casually rolled up so people passing by could glimpse his dark mark. Very few Acolytes ever rose high enough to have the precious mark bestowed on them and he enjoyed watching jealous eyes flicker to it. Their haughty arrogance quickly gave way to respect and Snape desperately wanted that respect to turn into fear – I need to make my mark, cultivate a stronger reputation for myself! Better to be feared than loved.

There was a small room high up in the west tower that was his and his alone. Snape entered and found a note on his cot, instructing him which books he was to collect in addition to the fabled sword when he went calling to Hogwarts. Snape was still unsure as to how he would go about gaining unfettered access to the school grounds while he was on his interview, but the Dark Lord always provided inspiration when he needed it most.

Snape lay down on the cot and patiently waited for his scar to burn – the signal for him to depart. His thought kept circling back to one question – how was the Dark Lord to secure an interview on such short notice? The Dark Lord had the unnerving ability to posit impossible tasks and then accomplish them in record time. Securing an interview with the venerated headmaster of Hogwarts should pose no problem for Him. The Dark Lord could do anything – the man who had saved me, gave me purpose, provided me blessed sanctuary after my love went unrequited…

For it was the Dark Lord who had showed Snape the righteous path, was righteous the right word? In these quiet moments, which were few and far between with the wizarding war raging, Snape had time to ruminate on the winding path his life has taken. He had been in such pain and despair when he realized he had truly lost her…and to him! That arrogant, evil boy!

Snape had been adrift in a sea of depression, searching to make sense of his life, to find some purpose and meaning, when a few of his school friends provided him a precious lifeboat. They introduced him to a hidden world, to the secret war that had been raging in the shadows between muggles and wizards for years. He was shocked to find that the Ministry had been covering up all the shocking muggle behavior and had been secretly pushing an agenda of discrimination and cowardice. Snape had been convinced of the insidious treachery by the powers that be and soon pledged himself to the dark cause.

But here, all alone in his cramped room, if Snape was being truly honest with himself, the muggle-wizard struggle did not hold his undivided attention or even bothered him. The Death Eater goals of wizard supremacy over muggles, pure blood dominance and subjugation of mud-bloods never stirred his deepest emotions or inspired him.

Snape's motivations to join the dark cause were much more personal. He saw an opportunity to gain respect, to become feared among his peers. He had grown tired of feeling inconsequential, eating rejection at every turn, having to constantly watch his back. He had dreamt of a way to make others feel as small and insecure as he did and the Dark Lord offered him just that.

At first it had been so exhilarating to join their dark and glamorous world – everyone had been so welcoming and encouraging. Praising him for his abilities, valuing his input – finally his talents were achieving their du notice! He was just a teenager, but he as afforded respect and being given real responsibility – from creating new potions to teaching older, more experienced wizards how to invent original spells. Now the snide comments whispered begin his back were not borne from hate or disgust, but from envy and jealousy.

And the first experiences of violence, real true violence, had been thrilling, had filled him with such furious excitement…but now…

Snape found he was constantly ill at ease, especially when he was not occupied with a specific mission. He had been a Death Eater for just a few short years, but he felt like he had experienced a lifetime of conflict and strife. As much as Snape blindly believed in the power the Dark Lord and trusted that His goals were for the greater good, even if he didn't understand or care about those goals – tiny doubts about the dark movement had begun to creep into his mind.

He had never been asked to participate in the more secretive, openly violent missions, but people talk. Rosier had once explained how he had used the Imperius curse to control some muggles into attacking wizards.

"Other muggles were doing it, but the Ministry kept hiding the abuse, so we were forced to create an attack so brazen that even the Ministry couldn't cover it up! The wizarding community had to be told what was really going on!"

The unforgivable curses began to fly more and more, their excuses and justifications ringing hollow and false in Snape's ears. And then the more disturbing rumors began to whisper in the wind…of wizards slain in their sleep, Aurors tortured into insanity, even half-bloods being mistaken for mudbloods and viciously slaughtered.

There was even talk of issuing pass-books to prove one's blood status and killing anyone on sight who could not produce one; the righteous goals he had signed up for were becoming less clear with each passing month. Snape had once expressed his concerns to Lucius, his former protector at Hogwarts, but the young Death Eater's trepidations had been brushed away, like tiny crumbs from a table cloth.

"Severus, where is this doubt coming from? Have I ever led you astray? You're not privy to everything, so when you hear bits and pieces of information of course you misinterpret them. You're in no position to comprehend the full picture of His vision. Don't look at me like that. You're a very clever wizard, you truly are and it's truly amazing what feats you can perform at your young age, but don't let your confidence transform into blind arrogance. And Severus, never again repeat your doubts out loud for not everyone has the…discretion I do. The Dark Lord does not suffer non-believers lightly."

To be fair I've never actually seen anything horrifically cruel…maybe Lucius was right, I don't know the full picture and rumors are just that, rumors. The whispers told about me in school were barely based in truth, yet everyone willingly believed them.

The few skirmishes Snape had partaken in were against highly trained Aurors or Ministry officials who knew the stakes. And the prisoners he had helped capture were never mistreated, at least not in his presence. The Death Eaters treated all with the utmost respect, especially pure-bloods. No "innocent" blood had been split on his watch, Snape would murmur to himself in the dark of night.

Sure, I'd participated in some torture, but that was strictly for gaining quick access to vital or time sensitive information – it was justified! And some of them had been asking for it, with their insolent stares and disrespectful attitudes. My conscious should be clean. Where was this doubt and guilt coming from? Why am I so weak?

Snape stared hard at the mark along his forearm, but it didn't even prickle. He wanted to leave for the mission, have something to do, a goal to work towards. Waiting alone in the dark, with just his thoughts to keep him company, was so frustrating. How would he capture the precious sword? His mind drifted to Dumbledore, the only wizard the Dark Lord ever seemed to be wary of. He thought back to his first day, it seemed like a lifetime ago…

* * *

… _Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his school robes, had perhaps taken the first opportunity to take off his dreadful Muggle clothes. At last he stopped, outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed against the windowpane. Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window. She had been crying._

" _I don't want to talk to you," she said in a constricted voice._

" _Why not?"_

" _Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."_

" _So what?"_

_She threw him a look of deep dislike._

" _So she's my sister!"_

" _She's only a —" He caught himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, did not hear him._

" _But we're going!" he said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. "This is it! We're off to Hogwarts!"_

_She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled._

" _You'd better be in Slytherin," said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little._

" _Slytherin?"_

_One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and Harry, whose attention had been focused entirely on the two beside the window, saw his father: slight, black-haired like Snape, but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked._

" _Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"_

_James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and with a jolt, Harry realized that it was Sirius. Sirius did not smile._

" _My whole family have been in Slytherin," he said._

" _Blimey," said James, "and I thought you seemed all right!"_

_Sirius grinned._

" _Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"_

_James lifted an invisible sword. " 'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad."_

_Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him._

" _Got a problem with that?"_

_No," said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy —"_

" _Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" interjected Sirius._

_James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike._

" _Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment."_

" _Oooooo . . ."_

_James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed._

" _See ya, Snivellus!" a voice called, as the compartment door slammed. . ._

Severus and Lily headed down the train corridor, looking for an empty space.

"Lily in here!" Severus exclaimed as he led her into a compartment that held a couple of dozing third years.

"So rude! Interrupting our private conversation, insulting us when they don't even know us! You never told me how disgusting wizards can be!"

"Lily I did! The four houses have serious rivalries, and the worst is Slytherin and Gryffindor. They hate each other, simply on principle."

"Why don't the teachers do something about it? We're all on the same side, all new students with no allegiances."

"Come on Lily, there're bullies in muggle schools too – it's a problem everywhere you go. Even at my Dad's mill, he's always complaining about how unfair the "top brass" is. Uncouth bullies, he calls them."

Lily had a frown on her face. "It's just not right, making people enemies just based on these houses. I thought magical people would be different, better than normal…er…muggles. Can't we just pick the house we want to be in?"

Whenever she became engaged about something, Lily would scrunch up her face and her eyes would flame aglow with passion. Severus had a sudden urge to reach out and hug her, but he settled for taking her hand in his and drinking in her eyes. He wanted to see them sparkle one last time, just in case the Sorting Hat threw a wrench into his well laid plans – he'd suffered many sleepless nights fretting about the impending sorting.

"Not everyone is like you, believing in what's right. The world can be a cold place Lily. Now, as I told you before, there's this amazing talking hat…"

"Please Sev, a talking hat makes such an important decision about our futures?"

"Lily, we just walked through a wall and got onto a magical train, but you don't think there could be a talking hat?" Lily laughed and Severus' heart skipped a beat. "As I was saying, before being so rudely interrupted!" Lily playfully slapped him, sending a jolt of electricity through his arm. "There's this hat," Severus continued on, red-faced and breathless…

…Little puny Severus stood in line with the other first years, facing the candlelit House tables within the Great Hall with a sea of rapt faces staring back. Whether he was shivering from nervousness or from the cold journey across the Great Lake, it was difficult to tell. He could not remember being more anxious about anything in his young life. His stomach squirmed like an angry octopus and kept getting the urge to throw up. His grandfather, the only person in world who had ever seemed to care about him, had once told him confidently he would be in Slytherin, just like his mom. He hoped with all his might Lily would join him there…please just not Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall's voice rang out – "Evans, Lily!" – and Severus' head snapped to attention, towards a rickety stool standing in front of the faculty table. Lily walked in slow motion, time stood still as she moved forward on trembling legs and sat down upon the three-legged stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head and barely a second after it had touched the flaming dark red hair, the hat cried, "Gryffindor!"

Severus let out a tiny groan, the air rushed from his body like a popped balloon. Lily took off the hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, and hurried toward the cheering Gryffindor table with a smile, but she sneaked a quick glance back at Severus, and the smile turned sour for a moment – her best friend looked so defeated. This has been the most magical day of her life and she could barely contain her excitement, but she could feel her best friend's disappointment –a twinge of guilt coursed through her little body.

Sirius moved up the bench to make room for Lily as she reached the Gryffindor table. She took one look at him, folded her arms, and firmly turned her back on him. She tried to catch Severus' eye, thinking maybe he could be sorted into Gryffindor too, but he was looking straight at the ground as if he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole. So what if Gryffindor and Slytherin students hated each other, they would stay best friends, just like before. Her friendship with him could survive anything, certainly some stupid magical rivalry.

The roll call continued and Remus, Peter and James all joined Lily and Sirius at the Gryffindor table. As students were called and summarily sorted, Severus' nervousness quickly gave way to resentment, then bitterness, and finally hate – all directed towards that damned Sorting Hat. That piece of trash had taken away his red flower, time to salvage this disaster. Severus quickly began focusing on brave and strong images he had read about, forcing them into his memory house. Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak his way into Gryffindor. He could suffer being in that horrible house if it meant he could be close to her.

His mind raced to one of the many textbooks that littered his Grandfather's attic. Whenever he ran away from home to escape the loneliness or worse, a beating, he headed to his Grandfather's and spent hours reading through the old books scattered there. One had been on the history of Hogwarts and he strained to remember what it said about the Sorting Hat, hoping to remember some minor detail that could allow him to hoodwink it.

The Sorting Hat had originally belonged to Godric Gryffindor and was jointly enchanted by all four founders to ensure that students would be sorted into their eponymous houses, selected according to each founder's particular fondness for certain traits. The Sorting Hat was one of the cleverest enchanted objects in the wizarding world and contained the combined intelligence of the four founders, was able to speak and was highly skilled at Legilimency – the hat could even respond to the thoughts of the wearer.

The Sorting Hat was a proud object, notorious for never admitting to placing a student in a wrong house. But to be fair it had rarely erred, and students are sorted at such a young age that their nature can change considerably as they mature into adults. Severus' grandfather had told him on more than one occasion that he was naturally gifted at mind-hiding, so maybe he could push aside his natural tendencies and focus on creating false memories.

When only a dozen students remained, Professor McGonagall finally called for Severus. He plodded towards the stool, his feet felt leaden and heavy as they scraped against the cold stone floor. Severus took a deep breath, let it out and sat down on the wooden stool. The last thing Severus saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was Lily giving him a quick wink. The next second he was looking at the black insides of the Sorting Hat and a musty smell enveloped his crooked nose. Severus began floating images of himself saving kittens and putting out house fires to the forefront of his mind, his brow crinkled in concentration.

"Hmm, the second tough decision I've had tonight," said a small, wheezy voice in Severus' ear. "Interesting strategy young man. Shows cunning beyond your years, trying to fool me. Shows haughty arrogance, thinking a mere babe could fool me. Shows intelligence, crafting these elaborate memories. Hmm…no trace of tolerance, patience or kindness. Let us immediately strike Hufflepuff, shall we?"

The voice startled Severus so much he nearly fell off the stool. The fake memories washed away like rain and the Hat began to pick its way through the young boy's memory house.

Dumbledore, watching intently from the faculty table, leaned over to school potions professor and whispered in his ear. "Curious, isn't it Horace?"

"Hmm? Yes, yes, it is a curious thing," replied Slughorn distractedly, as he was more focused on finishing his candied pineapple than giving a damn about the night's sorting. "Umm, what exactly are you referring to Albus?"

"It's been decades since we've had a hat-stall. The last one I can think of was Minerva, and now we've gotten two in one night?"

"Yes, quite curious," replied the portly potions master. He gave his mustache a quick twirl with his hand and then dived back into his sweets.

Dumbledore made a mental note to closely follow two of his new first years, one Peter Pettigrew and one Severus Snape.

"Well boy, I'm leaning towards Ravenclaw. What have you got to say about that?"

Severus shocked himself by immediately replying in his mind, "What about Gryffindor?"

"No, I don't think so, you don't strike me as the brave type. More of a save your own skin type, eh…coward?"

Hot anger roiled through Severus' scrawny body and he clenched his small fists into hard balls. "You don't know a thing about me, you filthy rag. I'm no coward!"

"Slytherin!" cried the hat… _And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him. . ._

* * *

…A sharp pain tore through Snape's left forearm, a searing fire danced alight on his pale skin. Snape opened his eyes and came back from the past. The time had come. He was to meet the only one He ever feared. The only one He never sought out. The only one the Dark Lord ever considered a rival. Snape had a date with destiny – it was time to meet the Headmaster of Hogwarts.


	4. Those Who Thrice Defied Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy.

**Chapter 4**

**Those Who Thrice Defied Him**

Severus Snape opened his eyes in a sudden confusion, visceral fear knifing through him as he sought to find his bearings. He lay face down on the floor, a bump forming on his cheek and raw sawdust tasted on his tongue. Disoriented, he jerked his head around in a panic…and finally noticed the familiar surroundings.

He was on the floor of his home potions lab – tiredness and worry must have overtaken him as the Dittany worked its magic. His flashback had felt so real, as if he had been sorted that first day only moments ago. He looked down at his right bicep – the gash and closed and sported a scar that appeared several days old. Chewing the plant's leaf wasn't as effective as taking the actual essence potion, but it certainly got the job done.

Snape pushed himself to his feet and ran his palm along the old books lining the lab. _Advanced Book of Brews, Poisons and Antidotes Vol. III, Chaucer's Potent Potions_ … finally he spied a dog-eared version of _Magical Drafts, Draughts and Potions_. He quickly flipped to the Essence of Dittany page and got to work.

Brewing a potion was an intensely personal process for Snape – he treated each concoction as if his very life depended on it. He was a loner and besides the precious few years he had with Lily, his best friends had always been books. A voracious reader as a young boy, he had digested everything he could lay his hands on in his Grandfather's house and local library. He very quickly moved on from reading about magic to applying it, and soon the gifted wizard discovered he possessed a natural talent for inventing spells and recipes.

Snape's attention to detail and creativity was what set him apart from his peers, his prowess in two contrasting traits. He treated even the most mundane of ingredients with meticulous care, as a five star chef would treat a prized cache of truffles. Brewing always calmed his frayed nerves, eased his constant state of tension – it was his natural anti-depressant. The endorphins flowed and Snape achieved a "runner's high" when a potion emitted the perfect scent or turned the perfect shade of color.

Essence of Dittany was a powerful healing potion, and as such, it required a deft touch and expensive ingredients. Snape's potions lab may have appeared drab and commonplace, but it held a treasure trove of the world's rarest ingredients. His personal supplies rivaled the storerooms of the wizarding world's most famous hospitals and institutions.

Snape glanced at the book – it called for three dittany leaves to be rolled up, chopped and dumped into a simmering cauldron full of other herbs. Snape smiled to himself as he closed the book and returned it to its place on a shelf. Rather than rolling and chopping the leaves, he shredded them with his fingers and slowly dropped the bits into a bubbling cauldron at three second intervals. The potion immediately turned clear and translucent – the author of _Magical Drafts, Draughts and Potions_ would have immediately revised his recipe if had witnessed what had just happened.

By clandestinely meeting with Dumbledore earlier, Snape knew that he had irrevocably crossed a threshold from which he could never come back from. The Dark Lord would never forgive such an absolute betrayal – He had killed for much less. If Lord Voldemort ever discerned the truth, if Dumbledore ever shared his secrets, Snape would swiftly pass into the hereafter and utter pain would have accompanied him on that journey.

The day Snape realized that the Dark Lord had interpreted the prophecy – the prophecy he himself had carried back to Him! – as a death sentence for Lily's child, Snape had never hesitated. There was no hand wringing, no internal struggle of where his loyalties lay, no weighing of the pros and cons. Snape had immediately decided his time as a faithful Death Eater had come to an abrupt end and reached out to the one person who might have the capacity to help her.

Snape didn't have any allusions in regards to his about face; he knew his reasons were borne from selfishness and greed, even lust. The death, pain and destruction caused to thousands of other people had given Snape some pause, yet he had always remained true to the Dark Lord's cause. But the moment he had discovered that Lily was in danger, he acted altruistically for the first time in his life; he behaved as if the Dark Lord had marked Snape himself for execution.

His mind raced back to a cold night a few weeks earlier – he had requested an audience with the Dark Lord, seeking a favor. Unlike many of his dark brethren, he had never once asked for compensation or rewards and the Dark Lord's interest had been piqued when Severus had finally come calling for something.

Let me find them for you! – Snape had begged his master. Entrust me with finding the Potter family my Lord, I'll not fail you, I'll bring the child to you. When he got high pitched laughter as an answer, Snape had begged for her to be spared – Please! My Lord…I…I desire her. Can I have her as my reward? Eventually, Snape had pretended to accept the Dark Lord's suggestion of finding a more worthy prize – yes my Lord, of course, a pureblood witch would make for a much more suitable wife.

Lord Voldemort should have paid more attention to the desperate pleas He heard that night.

Within an hour of that audience, an owl had been dispatched to Hogwarts from a house on Spinner's End. Such a simple method of communication in the wizarding world, the Owl's message held no charms of concealment or complicated protection spells. No one would ever have imagined that anything of importance would be sent in such a common way during such troubled times. The letter had contained a simple message in cramped, scrawled handwriting:

_Professor Dumbledore, please meet me tonight near the southern hills of my childhood home – The Half Blood Prince._

He used the nickname Dumbledore himself had affectionately given him during his second day at Hogwarts. The head of the Slytherin house, Horace Slughorn, had seemed so obsessed with one's background and family affluence that Snape had been too terrified to ask the walrus shaped professor about how to obtain second hand textbooks. Unable to sleep that first night, Snape had awoken at first light and sat alone in a dark corridor, wondering if he was going to get in trouble for not having the required textbooks on his first day. Would he get detention? Would the others laugh at his stupidity? Oh God, the last thing I want to do is draw negative attention to myself! How embarrassing his first class would be, the only one who couldn't afford a lousy textbook…

* * *

"Ahh, young Master Snape. I noticed you last night at the sorting. Took the Hat a solid five minutes to place you."

Severus looked up in fright, at bespectacled twinkling blue eyes. "Yes, sir. It kind of, well, it ummm, sort of had a conversation with me."

"Very interesting indeed. Master Snape, don't fret about being placed in Slytherin, some of the brightest wizards I've ever known were half-blood or muggle born from your house, and many came from humble beginnings," Dumbledore exclaimed. He somehow knew what fears had been playing on the young boy's mind. "And of course, we have programs in place to help those students who cannot purchase new books. You're the son of Eileen Prince, are you not?"

Shocked at what he heard, Severus simply nodded.

"She was a wonderfully gifted witch as I recall. Top notch Gobstones player, a School Captain I believe." With a wink, Dumbledore gently took his hand and led Severus over to a handsome boy watching the pair talk.

"Cornwall, this here is young Severus Snape. Please show him where and how to apply for used textbooks."

"At once Professor. Right this way, Severus is it? So, what do you think of Hogwarts?" Severus looked back at Dumbledore and gave a tiny smile, small yellowish teeth peeking out from thin cracked lips.

"Take care, Half-Blood Prince!"

* * *

Once Snape had sent that owl off into the night, his destiny had forever been altered – all this trouble because of that forsaken prophecy! He wished he'd never crept up those blasted stairs and heard that delusional maniac's ramblings. With her coke-rimmed glasses and shabby clothing, such a wretched, disgusting woman. Endangering the only one that ever made me happy, had ever given me peace, the only one that ever accepted me for who and what I am…

The healing draught finally cooled and turned a light shade of emerald, Snape took a long slow sip. The Essence of Dittany could be applied topically, but ingesting it nearly tripled its efficacy. Snape slumped to the ground in a drowsy haze as the warm brew slowly coursed through his body. His thoughts floated back to that horrible night, that goddamn prophecy…

* * *

Once his mark began to burn, Snape stalked off from the Lair with a servile Acolyte following a step behind, mirroring his every step. They strode out into the thick wet air of the Scottish highlands, a red sun receding behind the mountain tops. Snape's mark continued its annoying burn, angrily urging him onward. He stopped just outside the village nestled below the Lair, the castle's looming shadow casting a pall over everything.

The Acolyte rushed up and tied a traveling cloak around Snape. He turned to look at her – a beautiful and timid creature, with smooth white skin and full red lips, scared to meet his dark gaze. As a Death Eater he could have told her to do anything and she would have gladly obeyed – fetch me food, bring me drink…give yourself to me, right here, right now!

The Acolytes unquestioningly followed orders and willingly submitted themselves to any whim or desire of a Death Eater, Demon or Banshee. Snape sometimes felt that they were even more ardent believers of the cause than many of his fellow marked brethren.

"Go now, run along – back to the castle."

"Yes sir, at once. You require nothing else?"

Snape turned around again in annoyance and the Acolyte dropped an old boot at his feet and scurried off to play sycophant to the next waiting Death Eater. Snape's gaze was drawn to the ground as the old boot trembled and turned to a shining bluish hue. He reached down, grasped tightly, and felt a familiar jerking feeling…

Hogsmeade was a quiet, picturesque village that one might find gracing the face of a postcard – thatched cottages, cozy coffee shops and cute boutique stores lined the cobblestone streets. There was an ever present merriness that floated around the village, the town had a welcoming air to it. When one strolled down the streets, a contended feeling would pass through them, as if they may have had just a little too much food or wine that day.

Snape kept the collar of his traveling cloak upturned in defiance of the chilly night wind as he made his way to The Hog's Head bar. He entered and quickly took a table in the back – submersing himself in the shadows, as was his natural inclination in any social setting. He wanted to gather his thoughts and emotions before taking a room for the night and preparing for his meeting.

The interview was scheduled early the next morning on the Hogwarts campus; he would be taken straight up to the Dumbledore's office to meet the man himself and present his qualifications. Why did Dumbledore even consent to meet with me? How had the Dark Lord orchestrated the interview so quickly? Amazing what He can do, no task is out of His reach.

Snape suddenly became aware of his surroundings – the grimy interior of the bar and unsightly appearance of the late night patrons brought a disgusted grimace to his face. He finally had money to spend, but old habits die hard and he had made his way straight to this run down hovel. He was no longer a poor little kid from Spinner's End – he had seen and done things that would make most grown men squeal in terror. He was armed with knowledge that wizards twice his age would never attain, commanded a fierce magic that coursed through his very blood – his days of spending the night at places like The Hog's Head were over.

Snape decided to secure lodging at The Three Broomsticks instead and rose from the darkened table. But at that moment the door to the bar swung open, and he quickly sat back down in stunned silence. A good-humored Albus Dumbledore strolled in, shouting a greeting to someone over his shoulder.

"Good night to you as well Percival!" exclaimed the famous wizard as he started towards the back of the bar, but someone to his right drew his attention. Dumbledore stopped and stared down at a man in a heavy cloak, his face covered, a thick smoking pipe jutting out from a small mouth. A greenish haze swirled about the man, smoke lazily drifting out from the pipe.

"I didn't know you allowed Mundungus back in, good for you," Dumbledore cheerily said to the barkeep. "I see you're finally learning to forgive."

That innocuous comment seemed to rouse the apathetic barkeep into action. He leapt to his feet with a roar and came around the dusty bar. "Mundungus! You filthy little sneak! How'd you get back in here?!"

The man with the pipe threw off his cloak and sprinted for the door. "I'm tryin' to relax a bit! Gimmie a break!"

The barkeep chased the stocky little man out of the bar and into the night air. Dumbledore continued towards the back of the bar, it appeared as if he was headed directly to Snape's table – alarm bells began ringing in the young Death Eater's head and he slinked further back into the shadows. Oh my God, has he spotted me? Coming here was a mistake!

"Albus! What brings you to The Hog's Head this chilly eve?" enquired a tall man sitting at a table near a dirty stairwell, directly opposite from Snape.

Dumbledore stopped, but continued to stare into the shadows Snape was cowering under. How can he see me? I'm completely hidden! Snape's hand twitched and he slowly reached for his wand. His shaking palm gripped the cold wood and he slipped the magic stick slowly out from his traveling cloak. Dumbledore continued to stare at the shadows with narrowed eyes for a long second, but then abruptly turned around and strode over to the man who had called out, a merry bounce in his step.

"Good evening!"

"Join me for a drink?"

"Not tonight Gideon. Have an interview to conduct, Hogwarts' business."

"Here in The Hog's Head? Come off it old man."

"Oh, it's true," Dumbledore chortled. "I'm thinking of discontinuing your favorite subject, Divination, but wanted to conduct one final interview. I believe she's waiting upstairs for me at this very moment."

"An interview here?" Gideon Gilliard replied as he looked unbelieving towards the back stairs. He then turned back and then winked knowingly. "Sure, I understand Albus."

"I'm not sure you do Gideon. Now, you must excuse me, enjoy your night."

Snape watched Dumbledore vanish up the stairs, his heart pounding in sync with each step.

I'm just imagining things – Dumbledore hadn't noticed a damn thing. And what luck! He was here now, conducting another interview.

Snape took a quick look around the bar, slipped out from the shadows and padded up the stairs. He entered a long narrow hallway with old wooden doors, fresh torches burned in iron sconces lining dirty walls with cracked wallpaper. He soundlessly slipped his wand from his robes and pointed it down the hallway.

"Audienta" Snape whispered, waving his wand up and down.

One by one sounds emanated from each of the doors as if Snape was standing right in the rooms themselves. The fourth door on the right was the one he was looking for – Dumbledore's voice echoed from it for a few seconds.

"Yes, Sybill, I understand. I'm sure I'll be able to reimburse you for your traveling costs…Yes, even if you cannot provide receipts. Now I must ask that we begin the interview."

Snape stole a quick glance behind him and then slowly approached the door, a solitary thief in the night; each step was a gentle raindrop as Snape moved as quietly as a church mouse. He finally reached the door, heart pounding in his ears, palms slick with nervous sweat. His mouth tasted dry and he suddenly felt very thirsty; he pressed his ear to the door and closed his eyes…

"Really Sybill, I must be going."

"No Albus, please wait," squeaked Sybill Trelawney in an ethereal voice. "Don't go! I …I…"

"Oh my…Sybill can you hear me? Are you alright, my dear?"

Then Snape heard a harsh, hoarse voice that seemed to thunder down from the heavens.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."_

Strong hands appeared from thin air and wrapped themselves around Snape's chest; he was flung headfirst down the hall. His skull bounced off the floor and he smashed into a heap at the top of the stairs. Eyes watering, he looked up and thought he saw Dumbledore standing the hallway. Impossible! It couldn't be!

Snape struggled to his feet and began sliding down the stairs as fast as he could. He could hear the barkeep's angry roar from above as fled the bar and tore into the black night. Only one thought was going through his mind at that moment.

I must speak with the Dark Lord!


	5. Silver and Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift from his one true friend.

**Chapter 5**

**Silver and Red**

It felt like sipping piping hot cocoa on a frigid winter night or diving into a cool spring after a long trek through an arid desert. Only a tiny sip of the Essence of Dittany – tasted like ambrosia, a healing salve from the Gods – and throbbing pain was instantly dulled. One must exercise caution when using the potion – too much of a good thing and all that.

Essence was a very potent healing draught that was normally applied topically, but for increased efficacy Severus Snape had discovered that one should ingest it. Like powerful pain killers, Essence could become very addictive – Snape had seen firsthand the deleterious effects of substance abuse. Snape's potions reputation has been spreading through the magical community and he could have commanded a healthy profit on the black market if he was so inclined to sell his wares – this particular brew would have fetched a substantial sum, but he bottled the rest of the potion and trudged out of his lab.

Snape had decided to keep the ramshackle house on Spinner's End when it passed to him, never having been one to care about appearances or living in a "status" neighborhood. He was one of the very few Death Eaters who had no interest in looting or profiting from the aftermath of the wizarding war.

Snape couldn't help but notice that many of his brothers, especially Lucius, had enjoyed quite a considerable boost to their personal coffers during the last few years. Wealth distribution was quickly becoming a major side effect of the violence and certain families had been able to consolidate their financial wherewithal.

However, monetary goals had never captured Snape's true passions. As long as the Death Eater rank and file kept his storerooms full of the world's rarest ingredients and passed along any dark magic books they pilfered, his comrades could take his share of the other treasures.

Snape's mind drifted to his inviting bed with its goose feather pillows and cotton sheets, yearning for a long respite to the trying day. He glanced down at the stairs as he marched up them in a slow trudge; faded into several steps were dark red blotches, indelible evidence of a long forgotten pain. His father, his mother…he felt anger reddened his cheeks and then quickly swallowed it down.

As Snape eased his tired bones into his waiting bed, he thought towards Dumbledore and what the great wizard might ask from him now that his allegiance had shifted to the light. He had been instructed to return to the Dark Lord's side and resume his old life – Dumbledore gave his word that he would keep watch over Lily and protect her family. Something or the other about a Fidelius Charm, Snape had overheard the Headmaster mention. And then one day the time would come – Dumbledore would summon him to fulfill his oath and pay back his blood debt.

Snape stripped off his soiled robes and let his bed swallow him whole. He closed his eyes and fingered a metal necklace lying across his bare chest – a thin silver chain, magically interwoven with ruby strands. Beautiful though it was, it was an odd thing for someone like Snape to wear, who cared not for his appearance and eschewed any type of jewelry or ornamentation. Snape appeared to go out of his way to avoid anything that could have improved his physical appearance, had never shown any interest at all in looking attractive.

But when Dumbledore had asked if there was anything he kept on himself at all times, save for his wand, Snape immediately thought of the silver and red necklace, his priceless possession, the last honest gift he had ever received. Dumbledore had then produced a bracelet of his own and, using a Protean charm, magically binded the two pieces of jewelry together. When he wanted to contact Snape, Dumbledore could simply tap his bracelet and Snape's sister necklace would turn ice cold; Snape could then touch his necklace and receive a quick vision of when and where to meet…

* * *

"Ingenious," muttered Snape, kneeling on the windy hilltop. The necklace Dumbledore had conjured from thin air had glowed bright green and then settled back to its original gold color.

"I must admit, I got the idea from your master," replied Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort and his dark tattoos…" Snape involuntarily jerked at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "Incidentally," Dumbledore continued, "I'm surprised you even own a piece of jewelry Severus. You don't really seem to be the type."

* * *

…Severus looked around impatiently, still no sign of her. Where was she?

Although he complained about it constantly, he actually loved meeting Lily in secret spots around the Hogwarts grounds. He had her undivided attention for a short time and it made him feel like the most important person on the face of the Earth to know that she was taking time out of her schedule just for him. She could do anything in the world, be with anyone she wanted, and for those precious few moments she chose to spend her time just with him.

Today she had passed him a note to meet her near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest – behind the sprawling vegetable patch, adjacent to the school greenhouse. But as time ticked on, Severus began to worry; maybe she'd gotten tied up with class work, or worse, maybe she'd forgotten about their rendezvous.

She's going to forget about me if she hasn't already; I've no place in her new life; she's going to leave me behind.

Just as his doubts were beginning to get the better of Severus, a snowball whistled through the air and smacked him square in the head.

Danger flashed through his mind as he spun low to the ground, his wand at the ready.

It must be the gang of four, those bastards always knew the perfect time to attack to me; they always popped up when I'm unaccompanied and away from Slytherin backup or the protection of the teachers. I don't understand how they always know when I'm all alone!

Severus had tried concealment charms on himself, even placing alarm spells around him as he walked the halls – he had once done a week's worth of homework for another student in exchange for an old Sneakoscope, but nothing had worked in keeping him safe. It was like the Marauders had eyes throughout the entire school grounds!

Severus had even become convinced they had figured out a way to hear his private conversations, so the previous summer he had created a spell that filled the ears of any person in his vicinity with an unidentifiable buzzing sound. Still the Marauders continued to get the drop on him, appearing out of nowhere as if they were invisible.

Severus' eyes darted around in a mix of panic and anger, but saw no footprints in the snow – no trace of another living soul. He stayed low to the ground, desperately trying to ferret out from where the next attack would come.

"I know it's you Potter!" Severus snarled. "Why don't you and Black show yourselves?! Or perhaps you're still waiting for the other two pathetic members of your stupid little gang?"

No one presented themselves, yet nervous giggling sounded from nearby.

"Aparecium!" Snape yelled and pointed his wand in the direction of the laughing.

The air shimmered in front of him and a person hazily came into view – the revealing charm had washed away someone's magical cover. A beautiful laughing red head slowly appeared, with snowflakes floating all around her. Severus' sense of danger melted away, much like the way Lily's impressive concealing charm had.

"That was amazing! How'd you make yourself totally invisible!?"

"You're not the only clever student in our year, I found the spell in an old N.E.W.T. study guide and decided I was going to learn it. Never know when you might want to disappear for a while." Lily's green eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I didn't know it was possible to become completely invisible like that."

"I wasn't totally invisible, I'm not sure that's possible. But, because of the snow flurries, it would've been tough for you to see me."

"But your footprints vanished too!"

Lily had walked right up to Severus by this time, her breath puffing into white mist, he lips a deep red – he stood mesmerized as the falling snowflakes danced in her fire-red hair.

"I walked here backwards and made then vanish every time I took a step silly. It took forever to sneak up on you, but it was worth it. I had to get you back for bewitching that suit of armor on me!"

"I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"I'd never forget your birthday Sev, what kind of friend do you think I am?"

The best, he wanted to say, but instead Severus waved his wand in air and whispered "Calororarum." Instantly the two friends were bathed in warm air, impervious to the winter cold.

"My way of saying thanks."

"For pelting you with a snowball?"

"No…for remembering," Snape said in low voice.

"Oh God Sev – stop being so melodramatic all the time, you've nothing to be depressed about."

"I'm still a little on edge I guess. I thought you were the usual Potter – Black tag team."

"Honestly Severus," using his full name to show her annoyance, "I think you're getting obsessed with those two. They're not that bad, except maybe Black. He's a real bad influence on the rest of em."

"Lily! You're just like everyone else; no one around here thinks Potter can do wrong. Teachers, students, even you. He's mean and arrogant and…"

"Come on Sev, I mean he did save your life." Lily admonished him, then quickly held up her hands to stop Severus from screaming back in defiance. "I know, I know – he only did it to save himself and his friends from getting into trouble."

"I hate him, always comes out smelling like roses no matter what dirt he rolls around in, always getting whatever he wants…"

"Not always," Lily cut in with a shy smile as flicked a snowflake at her friend. Severus smiled back, barely stopping himself from grabbing her and kissing her right there and then. I wonder what her lips taste like with snowflakes melting one them.

"About time you realized he fancies you." Snape took a deep breath. "How, um, how do you…feel about him?"

"I've got to get back to my study group soon. Do you want to get your birthday present or do you want to spend our time together talking about James Potter?"

"Present please!" Severus closed his eyes and held out his hand, something cold was pressed into it. "Oh Lily, it's…it's…it's beautiful. I love you – um – it. I love it!"

"I'm so glad! I saved up all year. It's real pure silver, but the rest…well, I couldn't afford actual rubies. The silver's you and the charmed red ruby strands stand for me!" Lily said excitedly, and then added with a grin, "A reflection of how I bring color and life to your bland existence!"

"It's beautiful Lily, an amazing piece of magic! Truly!"

Severus stood still while Lily grabbed the necklace from him and made him turn around. She then held up his long black hair with one hand, while placing the necklace around his neck. He could feel her hot breath warming the nape of his neck, sending hot slivers running down his spine.

Lily was right, for at this moment, Severus Snape had absolutely nothing to be depressed about.

* * *

Sitting alone in his cramped bedroom on Spinner's End, Snape continued to twist the necklace around his fingers staring at the silver as if it might come alive at any moment. It really was a beautiful piece of complex magic, the fire ruby strands had never faded an iota since that day. Snape closed to his eyes, slowly drifting off to one his usual dreams of what could have been if only he had done things differently.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open in a panic. He looked down at his forearm and saw a black snake twisting in a figure eight, each silver sending burning sensations up his arm. Lord Voldemort had returned from overseas – all Death Eaters were to report to the Lair at once…


	6. Dark Lord Ascending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gathering in the snake den.

**Chapter 6**

**Dark Lord Ascending**

Severus Snape stepped out of his house and into a brisk night chill, wrapped up tight in a long black traveling cloak. He muttered "Tutum Portumenus" and heard the front door lock click into place with a protective enchantment. Down the front steps and out onto his street corner, he walked along in relative darkness – the lamp posts never worked in little old Spinner's End. The town used to fix them periodically, but soon realized that the neighborhood would quickly smash them to pieces within a few hours. No point throwing away good money, especially to the ungrateful curs of Spinner's End.

Even at this late hour Snape remained cautious, walking as softly as he could with eyes alert to any possible attack. He crossed the street and entered a small park through broken gate, settling behind a small yew tree. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, Snape spun on the spot and vanished with a twirl of his cloak. A few seconds later his feet slammed into uneven ground and Snape found himself in a small graveyard, next to a ceremonial altar made of white alabaster. He sat down on the cold ground, crossed his legs and began to wait patiently.

Within minutes, two of his old school friends had arrived in the cemetery and joined him, the familiar crack of apparition announcing their arrival. Darius Avery and Kyle Mulciber had attended Hogwarts with Snape and had risen through the Death Eater ranks alongside him.

Avery was a stout young man, with beady black eyes and a crooked nose that had been broken countless times. He reminded Snape of the typical enforcer one would find in the muggle hooligan gangs that hung around the local pubs. Brutish and dumb, but you were glad he was on your side when the bar fight broke out. He always had an evil, yet playful look on his face – the cat who ate the canary.

Mulciber was much closer to Snape in stature and personality. Sinewy and athletic, he had the frame of a skinny footballer or swimmer. Blonde locks fell across his pockmarked face with his glowing green eyes that betrayed a quiet menace. Both Avery's and Mulciber's fathers were part of Tom Riddle's original school posse, nicknamed the Knights of Walpurgis – forerunners to the Death Eaters. They were born into pure-blood fanaticism and relished following in their fathers' footsteps.

Staring at them, Snape thought to himself how little he had in common with these men, besides their allegiance to the dark cause. Yes, he closely associated with them during his school years, and naturally everyone assumed they were good friends – even Avery and Mulciber themselves counted Snape as one of their closest confidantes. But close ally was not correct – "proximity friends" was a more apt description of Snape's relationship with his Death Eater brethren.

Snape had spent time with them during his time at Hogwarts because they happened to be in the same house, the same dorm room. Their destinies were intertwined due to an almost symbiotic relationship they formed while at Hogwarts. They had wanted someone to teach them dark magic and how to channel their arrogant bullying into more refined terror, and Snape wanted protection from his incessant assaults at the hands of the Gryffindor house. Snape never considered them real friends, at least not friends he could count on when the time truly came.

"What a party tonight, huh boys?" said Avery to no one in particular. "The initiations always get me jacked up, and there were some beautiful Acolytes being passed around."

"Life's been good since we graduated. Parties, women, galleons – and having the chance to really make a difference in wizarding rights. If only my grandfather were alive to see what we've been able to accomplish in just a few short years," replied Mulciber. "Come now Severus, you can't still be holding a grudge over Regulus' initiation? Always a selfish one, you were."

"I could care less about him, or his pureblood traitor brother. Both are rotten branches of a family tree that yearns for a good pruning," Snape spat. He stood up and brushed the first from his robes, "What's the portkey?"

"It's that broken piece of gravestone over there," pointed Avery. "And as it's turning blue, let us be off."

The three dark wizards each grabbed onto a piece of the shimmering stone – with an abrupt jerk they were transported to the wet hills of Scotland. They quickly made their way across a dead man's bridge and into an open courtyard of the Lair – the castle felt oddly empty and quiet. Whenever the Dark Lord graced the grounds with His presence, the Acolytes and lesser regarded Death Eaters (Demons and Banshees) scattered like cockroaches from a flash light.

The three wizards stalked across the castle's empty courtyard and descended into the dungeons. A long winding stairway made of crumbling stone marked their way down and eventually opened into a dry stone passage. The passageway was lit with swaying torches hanging lazily from the rocky ceiling. Prison cells with rusty metal bars lined the walls and many were filled with starving occupants. Most kept silent as the Death Eaters marched by, but Snape heard a few softly crying or begging for food.

The air was thick with the stench of human waste and dried blood, a miasma of human misery that Snape choked on as he walked by with his eyes down.

"You'd shut your filthy traps if you knew what was good for ya!" snarled Avery at a few of the cages he passed by.

At the end of the stone passageway the stink of the cells wafted away and the wizards found themselves in front of a large oak door, twice the height of a man and doubly long across. A long serpent had been magically carved along its border, with ancient words scrawled all over in a haphazard manner. Mulciber put his palms on the door and closed his eyes, sending a shudder through his body.

"It is I, Kyle Mulciber, faithful Death Eater since 1979, son of Davis Mulciber, my initiate sacrifice was Julie Christie. I stand with two faithful servants, Darius Avery and Severus Snape. If we are worthy, open, and let us pass."

For a long second nothing happened – then a low hiss sounded from the wood as the carved serpent came alive and slithered along the edges of the door. The ancient words scratched into the wood glowed a golden red, as if they had been freshly branded just moments ago, and a shining archway appeared in the middle of the door – the three Death Eaters strode through the wood as if it were made of thin air.

They entered a cavernous room with stalactites hanging like overgrown bats from a natural rock ceiling. A dark pumice throne sat atop a raised dais that lined the center of the room and surrounding the throne, in a closed semi-circle, were sunken chairs arranged amphitheater style. Most of the room was cast in shadows, but impossibly the center dais was illuminated by light, as if the chair itself were made from the Sun. The throne gave off a menacing glow, one couldn't help but be drawn to it.

A dark shadow detached itself from the throne – Lord Voldemort now stood in front of it, garbed in loose fitting black robes with a green trim hood. Snape slipped away from his two traveling companions and quietly found one of the empty remaining seats, waving his wand in front of his face to conjure a silver mask. Most of the Death Eaters within the cave wore masks as well, but a few were confidently showing their faces.

The Death Eater masks were ornate and handsomely crafted with each giving the appearance of a living, breathing face. Each mask had traces of different colors, depending on how long the bearer had been a Death Eater and what services he had performed for the Dark Lord. The mask was not actually a solid object, but a magical face that appeared whenever the Death Eater wanted it to – an ability gained when once was awarded the dark mark. Most bore snakes or skulls, but there were all manner of creatures represented: bears, boars, lions, horses, insects and even a few goat masks were present.

The cave air was hot and stifling, but as Snape settled into his seat, cold perspiration prickled on his brow. Would the Dark Lord sense a turn cloak was now in His midst? Would Snape's necklace betray his duplicity? Would Lord Voldemort sniff out treachery?

The Dark Lord's crimson slits began searching the room – his gaze pausing occasionally and lingering on a Death Eater that caught his attention. Snape averted his eyes and kept his head bowed, but soon felt the Dark Lord's eyes come to rest on him. Unable to stand the pressure any longer, Snape raised his eyes, willed himself to stay calm, felt his mind instinctively locking itself down.

The Dark Lord's penetrating gaze was as intense as ever and Snape felt a breeze sweep across his face – his mask washed away into the air. The silver and red necklace twitched and began to constrict, a python preparing to squeeze its meal. The metal was slowly choking Snape, cutting off his breath – the Dark Lord has sensed my treachery…I shall perish here…deep in this underground tomb…to be buried alive in hell.

But the next instant the Dark Lord looked away and continued appraising the rest of the gathered servants. Snape let out a long ragged hiss…remember to breathe.

The Dark Lord sat down in his throne and waved a pale white hand in front of him. A hushed silence fell over the room and the cave door made a locking sound – God help the Death Eaters who were late and missed the meeting.

The last standing witch turned back to take her seat and Snape noticed it was Bellatrix – she never felt the need to wear a mask amongst her brethren, proud to let all know where her allegiance lay. Her raven black eyes were alight with passion…or was it lust? Being so close to the Dark Lord was an almost orgasmic experience for her.

"Welcome holy knights and true believers," whispered Voldemort, yet his voice echoed loudly around the dark chamber. The pumice throne shone bright, bathed in an unnatural light. "I've summoned you here after my lengthy absence to initiate our plans for a brighter future."

As one the assembled soldiers sat up straight in their seats, a sea of rapt faces attentively tuned in to the Dark Lord's message.

"We've accomplished so much, in such a short period of time – it truly has been impressive and I couldn't be prouder. But much work still yet remains, for those still willing." Lord Voldemort gripped the arms of the throne and stood up, sending a tremor of electricity through the crowd. "It's becoming clear that there's a grass roots movement swelling against us, a small group of hostile muggle lovers and non-believers – they call themselves the Order of the Phoenix, led by the old fool Dumbledore."

The air filled with jeers, hisses and taunts at the sound of the venerated headmaster's name.

"Muggle lover!"

"Wizard hater!"  
"We should string him up the neck!"

Voldemort held up his hands and the derisions slowly died out.

"Yes, it's always disappointing to see a wizard turn his back on his magical brothers and sisters to support the fanatical, intolerant muggles – but alas, there's always been evil in this world. I pray that some of the people in this very room will be able to properly…persuade the members of the Order to realize the error of their ways."

Several Death Eater stood up and clapped, whereas many more bellowed out loud cheers. Voldemort soaked up the adulation for a few moments before once again quieting the rousing crowd.

"Our faithful Demons, Banshees and Acolytes will continue pushing forth with the ground effort we've been cultivating. They'll be tasked with continuing our freedom incursions, counter attacks and dissemination of muggle truths. I want the holy knights in this room to focus on a more important matter, something of the utmost importance.

"A faithful spy has brought to my attention the names of two wizarding families that were borne sons this summer. I've a particular interest in these boys. Some of you are familiar with these traitorous families – the Potters and the Longbottoms."

Grumblings and shouts bubbled loud, but Voldemort continued on.

"I want these children and their cowardly families tracked down! Unearth their locations, root out their hiding places! For they represent the final obstacle in our path to raising the wizarding class out of the muck!

"Priority must be given to ferreting out the Potter child, as he's the real prize. The one who brings me the child's whereabouts shall be handsomely rewarded, riches beyond measure awaits one of you!"

The grumblings grew to excited chatter, greed and lust swam around the cave.

Snape had flashes of Lily in pain spring to his mind and he struggled to push her from his thoughts, lest he somehow betray himself among these dark creatures of the night. He had unwittingly released an unholy terror upon her, a deadly storm that would never relent.

"We must stamp out this fanatical Order, these disgusting mud-blood lovers. First name on the list is Edgar Bones – a dead man walking. I command you to eliminate these pureblood quislings once and for all! I'm tired of the restraint we've showed! Enough mercy! I want this traitorous scum to pay for their continued insolence in blood!" roared Voldemort, his voice quickly growing to a booming crescendo.

Not even the Dark Lord himself could have stopped the whooping and hollering that now rang out from the Death Eaters ranks. They were all on their feet, shrieking in a dark frenzy, the Dark Lord's screams echoing off the cave walls and egging them on.

Snape rose to his feet as well, light headed and breathless. The Dark Lord looked so radiant…his words still sang of truth and justice…it was true…why should wizards live in the shadows anymore…

Snape felt a twisting confliction of emotions in his heavy heart – his profound love for Lily had been buried the day she married, yet when he discovered the threat to her person that long dormant love had rushed forth from him like a boiling geyser. It had always been there he realized, an ever present latent emotion.

Yet Snape couldn't simply wash away a lifetime of love for the dark arts, he couldn't just forget the strong devotion to the Dark Lord and the feeling of belonging the Death Eaters had given him.

Confused with himself, Snape stood alongside his dark comrades and roared his approval. The air hung thick with the promises of a rich and bright future and he lost himself in the moment, surging forward with the jostling crowd – each of them believing they were the chosen one.

Snape pressed forward, his robes rubbing his skin raw. The Death Eaters began scrambling over seats and pushing into each other, a black throng swelling and moving as one towards the dark throne. Snape could smell the sweat and stink of the men around him, felt his robes tearing from the swell. The felt himself stepping over a fallen Death Eater, but pressed on, stretching out his hands.

The black sea of devotion pushed closer and closer to the dark throne and the black captain who waited for them. Lord Voldemort's dark charisma drew his soldiers to him like flies to honey and he held his arms aloft and outstretched.

"Go forth Holy Knights of Walpurgis! My faithful Death Eaters! True champions of Wizarding Rights!" screamed Lord Voldemort as his dark hood slipped off. His half human, half skeletal face twisted in a perverse grin – an awful rictus of a smile gleamed menacingly through twisting cavern shadows. "Push forth and bring honor to my house! Bring me the Potter boy! Find the Longbottom child! STRIP EDGAR BONES' FLESH FROM HIS FACE AND SHOW THE WORLD WHAT WE DO TO OUR ENEMIES!"

The mass of Death Eaters crowded around the dais, angry ants swarming to their red queen, arms reaching out towards their Dark Lord – a thick pulsing mass of fervent zeal. A ferocious orgy of emotions swirled through the ranks, the air thick with ardent fervor and a thirst for violence. Unbridled passion poured forth from the Dark Lord, his body pulsed with silver light, blinding his followers.

"GO NOW AND FULFILL YOUR DESTINIES! OUR DEEDS SHALL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN! LET US CHASE IMMORTALITY! TOGETHER!"

The swollen Death Eaters ranks pressed further together, bulging forward as one wave. Screams and cries rang out, as people were pushed and pulled to the ground. Snape heard the cracking of bones and grunts of pain, but remained oblivious to it all, his eyes glazed over in desire.

He the was so close to the Dark Lord he could almost touch him…just a little closer…a little closer…he would finally be able to feel that ancient magical power, the strongest dark wizard in history…just a little closer…

Steam began to emanate from Lord Voldemort as his screams grew louder, fissures appearing all over his robes. His chanting words crumbled into guttural screams as he urged his followers on. A tangle of hands blindly reached out, mere supplicants desperate to touch a walking deity. A few were able to just touch his robes, their palms blistered into angry boils, but they continued to push forward and reach out.

With a final shriek the Dark Lord spun on the spot and erupted in a blinding flash…then melted into the cave air, leaving his trembling servants behind, confused and yearning for more.

* * *

 Snape lay on his simple cot, up high in the west tower of the Lair, staring at the rain stained rock of his stone ceiling. His heart continued to pound from the intense performance given by the Dark Lord earlier that night. Snape had never read about, much less witnessed, a wizard melting into thin air like that before.

The closest thing was apparition, but apparating was a complicated and dangerous method of travel. Even some of adult age wizards could not do it and many only apparated in case of an emergency. Many places had anti-apparition enchantments nowadays and only powerful wizards had the ability to apparate over great distances. And to apparate across far distances, it was best to be out in the open, unburdened by any enclosures. To disappear like that deep within a deep underground cave was an extraordinary display of magical prowess. Was there nothing the Dark Lord could not do?

After such a dramatic exit, Bellatrix had barely been able to calm the raucous crowd. Many kept chanting, Snape included. He had pushed forward and began kissing the throne along with several others. When his trance finally broke, he pulled himself away and retreated to a corner.

Several Death Eater lay bloodied on the floor, trampled by the wave that had surged forward. Some lay passed out from nervous excitement. Several shoving matches broke out amongst the group, and Snape ambivalently watched as broken noses and bloody lips soon followed. The pent up energy in the cave was a powder keg threatening to explode at any moment, violence was always close at hand at these meetings.

Eventually Bellatrix managed to gather the restless Death Eaters together and relayed the Dark Lord's wishes on personnel and strategy. Snape had full control of himself by then, slightly disgusted with the lack of control he showed.

Confusion reigned supreme in his heart between his love for Lily and his attachment to his dark surrogate family. Snape hoped against hope he would be assigned to one of the Potter search teams, but alas, 'twas not meant to be. He was assigned to a Death Eater assignation squad and Bellatrix had been smugly adamant about it.

"Yes, Severus the snake, you're to hunt down members of the Order for us. Gone are the days where you simply blend into the background, creating spells and potions in a safe lab or playing passive lookout for us. The Dark Lord wants you to get your hands dirty – you've been chosen, asked to show your devotion. You will kill for us…for Him."

Snape had been a tightly coiled ball of anxious energy since Bellatrix's scathing words – for he had only killed once before and it hadn't been with a wand.


	7. But at What Cost?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking a troubling memory.

**Chapter 7**

**At What Cost**

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of a dark shop and headed down Knockturn alley. He understood wizards' fascination with the dark arts and obscure antiques, but he wished there were stronger laws in place to police stores like Borgin and Burkes. The shop always gave him an uneasy feeling when he visited, as if an icy finger was sliding down his spine. The store's staff had gone from unhelpful to downright hostile in these troubled times. He would have given a sack full of Galleons for just a glimpse of the store's customer list for the past year, thousands of untracked galleons passed through the store's coffers on any given month.

As he rounded out of Knockturn alley and headed towards the Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore noticed he wasn't being stopped as often as he had in the past. He had just turned down the opportunity to become Minister of Magic for the second time and was quickly becoming one of the most well-known wizards in all of Britain, if not the world. In previous years, it would have taken him hours to make his way through Diagon Alley, stopping to speak with everyone that hailed him.

But times were changing Dumbledore thought sadly – people scurrying about their business, not wanting to linger or chit chat. He had once read a muggle book in his youth describing a police state, the claustrophobic air of suspicion and mistrust that hung over that society had seemed unbearable. It now felt as if the wizarding world was headed dangerously close to that type of oppressive environment.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, he stopped a newspaper boy and purchased a Daily Prophet. Another troubling headline – _Bones Family Murdered, Ministry has More Questions than Answers_. Scanning the article to read about what he already knew, Dumbledore felt weary, deep down in his bones. He had just turned 100 and had finally started to feel his age. He still maintained his light, airy attitude in the presence others, but found his disposition turning sour whenever he found himself alone with just his thoughts for company.

The Leaky Cauldron was a shabby pub and inn, located on Charing Cross Street. It had an open bar area, large communal dining table and small parlor rooms on the first floor, with rooms for rent occupying the next two floors. It had been established to act as a comfortable gateway between the muggle world and Diagon Alley. Dumbledore tapped on the pub's back stone wall and several bricks slide aside to create a doorway. He stepped through the wall, past a little courtyard and into the pub.

"Hello Tom, how are things?" asked Dumbledore. He ran his finger along the bar, dragging an inch of dust with it. "I see you're keeping things tidy as usual."

"People don't like to stay for a drink nowadays. I'll be out on the street soon, this keeps up," replied the long time barkeep.

"Sorry to hear it Tom, but don't fret. Amazing location you've got here, you'll always be in business. I wonder if I could trouble you for a brandy and the use of one of your rooms upstairs, just for an hour or so?"

"Don't rent em by the hour."

"Very well, I'll give you a night's rent for an hour. Sound good?"

Dumbledore placed several galleons on the grimy bar. The gold seemed to lift Tom's spirits, as he quickly measured out a generous thumb of brandy, tossed Dumbledore a numbered key and pointed towards a staircase in the back.

Tom turned away, biting down on the galleons and then quickly adding the coins to his till. He didn't notice a dark stranger at one of the back tables silently rise and slink after the headmaster. The stranger quietly crept up the stairs and spied Dumbledore entering a room at the end of a dimly lit hallway. He moved soundlessly down the hall and was surprised to find the door ajar. He stepped inside and hurriedly shut the door.

"Hello again Severus. Care for some brandy? Contrary to the disheveled appearance of the bar, this drink is quite tasty."

Snape slumped down on a chair, looking like he had aged a lifetime since their clandestine hilltop meeting.

"I didn't come here for a bloody drink. What do you want?"

"I summoned you days ago Severus. Having second thoughts about keep your word?"

"I sent you messages, have you not received them?"

"Yes I did. A rally at your Dark Lord's castle. Another warning about the danger the Potter's face. But I feel as if you're still withholding from me Severus. You never mentioned a second boy with regards to the prophecy."

"Lies! I've told you everything important. The Longbottom boy isn't in any real danger, the Potter child is the true prize. He's convinced the prophecy refers to him."

"So the Longbottom family's safety means nothing? I should focus only on keeping Lily safe?"

Snape opened his mouth as if to voice disagreement, but thought better of it. "No…of course not. You're right, I should've mentioned the other family as well…how did you discover about the Longbottoms?"

"Never hold back from me again Severus, ever – I alone will decide what is important and what is not…you swore me an oath. You gave me your word! Should I have asked for the unbreakable vow? I thought you truly loved her."

"I do love – I didn't think – I've kept my word! I'll make the vow, right here, right now! I didn't think mentioning the second child was important! He's obsessed with the Potters and no one else!"

"Tell me where the Death Eater castle is!"

"You know I cannot! I'm not the Secret Keeper!"

"Why didn't you come at once when I called for you?! Does your word mean nothing?!" The hidden fury of Dumbledore was threatening to appear.

"Of course it does, but I can't just go traipsing off whenever you summon me! Sometimes I am…indisposed."

Dumbledore tossed him the Daily Prophet, its headline shouting at Snape.

"Indisposed indeed. Your last message spoke of a rally deep within the castle, a new direction you and your friends were moving in. Tell me Severus, what have you been up to these past few weeks?"

Snape looked hard at Dumbledore, his black eyes flashed red with indignant anger…and then shame. Without taking his gaze from Dumbledore's vivid blue eyes, Snape raised his wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his long, dark hair. When he withdrew his wand a silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand. It was white and translucent, a flimsy strand that threatened to break apart at any moment. Longer and longer it stretched until finally it broke off at the temple, swinging from the wand like a small pendulum.

Dumbledore reached out and wrapped the silvery substance around his finger.

"Is this a reflection or the original memory?"

"The original of course," replied Snape. "What's a reflection? A copy of one's memory?"

"Don't know everything I see…"

"Did you bring your pensieve?"

Dumbledore drew his wand and waved it over his silvery finger, muttering ancient words that Snape had never heard before. The silvery strand wrapped around Dumbledore's finger gave a quick shiver and then a white mist rose from it, as if it was shedding its skin. Dumbledore reached out and cupped the semi-solid mist that had risen from Snape's memory strand. He then held out his finger and Snape reached out with his wand to take back the memory. Snape touched his wand back to his temple and the strand slowly wriggled back into his mind. Dumbledore then held his hand over the brandy and gently guided the silver mist into the alcohol.

"How did you do that? Is it a perfect replica?"

"Memories always taste like their original owner. Please don't take offense Severus," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, "But I believe I'll need to mix in some alcohol with this."

Unlike viewing memories in a pensieve, ingesting memories was quite an uncomfortable experience. Dumbledore would feel queasy until he had experienced the memory in full and it had passed through him. But an advantage was that he would be able to completely immerse himself in the memory, experience it firsthand, rather than merely being an outside observer during the process. Dumbledore would be able to sense everything Snape had during the memory, all his feelings and emotions.

Ingesting a memories was a tricky business; it could have serious deleterious effects on both parties. The original owner could lose the memory completely, causing damage to his mind. And the new owner could begin to confuse and destroy his own memories, with an alien one permanently residing within him. Powerful incantations and spells in the hands of wizards not capable of properly implementing them was a recipe for disaster as Dumbledore had found over his many travels.

Dumbledore swirled his cup, the brandy mixing with the silver mist. Then, with a quick wink to a dumbfounded Snape, he gulped it down…

* * *

…Snape sat in a wooded enclosure, tending to a small fire. An amber potion was bubbling in a small cauldron in front of him, smoke lazily drifting up from the hot brew. He was surrounded by a few vacant tents, men were idly chatting nearby. Clearly some kind of encampment deep within a dark forest.

Snape added a few greenish brown leaves and began stirring the simmering potion with short, clipped strokes. The surrounding conversation grew louder, a restlessness in the voices.

"I'm tired of waiting," snarled Igor Karkaroff. He was a tall thin man, with closely cropped salt and pepper hair. He had a gaunt, spindly look about him, eyes darting to and fro. He walked towards Snape, with Avery and Mulciber alongside him.

"Is it ready yet Severus?" asked Mulciber. "The other two have arrived, it's time to go."

"A few more minutes. Who was sent to us?" asked Snape.

Avery gestured behind him.

Snape saw Walden Macnair striding towards them. He had been one of the very first Death Eaters and was fiercely loyal to the Dark Lord. Macnair had long grey hair that framed a weathered face – one could tell he had been very athletic as a younger man. And behind him – it couldn't be!

Shock coursed through Snape and he gripped his wand tight, ready to send a curse flying. It was Bartemius "Barty" Crouch, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was known to be as vicious and cruel as the Death Eaters he was appointed to capture. But somehow he seemed different, younger almost.

"Relax," said Macnair as he reached the group, sensing the tension growing in Snape. "Allow me to introduce the newest member to our cause…Barty Crouch, Jr. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement's own son."

At this comment Barty took a wide bow and the rest of the Death Eaters started laughing, Snape included.

"The ministry, a bunch of clueless mugs."

"We'll have them all soon enough."

"Severus, the potion?

"It's ready, everyone grab a cup."

Snape ladled out cupfuls to his companions, then poured himself a measured dose. The amber brew shone in the dark shadows, with the consistency of tomato soup. They all quickly drank it, save for Barty – he sniffed at it suspiciously.

"What's this then?"

"It's chicken broth. Now shut up and drink as you're told," barked Macnair.

"It's an old potion, from Albania. I don't know its name. It provides energy bursts over a short period of time. More adrenaline, your senses sharpen, increased tolerance to pain and so forth," explained Snape.

The others stalked off, a bounce in their step, towards a wooden house standing solemnly in the distance, leaving Snape alone with Barty.

"I don't like have my senses dulled or changed, I want to _feel_ everything that happens."

"It might give you a bolt of courage, Bones is a tough wizard."

"I'm not coward – I won't drink a potion you don't even have a name for!"

"Suit yourself," replied Snape. He got up, stamped out the fire and headed off towards the others. "Even the Dark Lord drinks it."

Barty stopped himself from pouring out the potion and then, deciding the Dark Lord knew best, gulped it down. The amber potion tasted salty and he felt it slide down this throat and settle deep in his gut, sending a jolt of energy through him. Dopamine began flowing through his body, his endorphins kicking into overdrive. Barty's eyes flashed with nervous anticipation as he hungrily thought about what lay ahead.

* * *

"Edgar Bones! Come out now! We only want you! We've no interest in your family!" bellowed Macnair. He and the other five Death Eaters were standing outside a large wooden home, standing on the sandy beach of a small lake. The Bones' summer house was soon to become the family's tomb.

"We've removed your magical defenses!" yelled Avery.

"And placed a Sanctum charm!" screamed Mulciber. "No apparition, no floo network, no portkeys!"

Snape, Karkaroff and Barty slowly moved towards the back of the house.

"Watch the windows," hissed Karkaroff. "They may try to fly off on brooms."

When the Dark Lord wanted someone dead, he got his wish. There was no hope for Bones outnumbered and alone. Snape knew four of the Death Eaters well. They were nasty, controlling men who all had a penchant for violence, but they had been through enough fights to realize the Dark Lord was only interested in Edgar.

These veterans were experienced in restraint and limiting collateral damage. And although the Dark Lord had no true concern for the rest of the Bones family, he had cautioned his soldiers against unnecessary brutality. Slaughtering women and children never made for good recruiting headlines and the Dark Lord was no fool.

Snape was glad for this edict – he saw no reason for additional pain and loss of life, especially of children. In private moments Snape had admitted to himself that he did not like the direction the Dark Lord's holy war was heading, doubts and regret had begun to creep more steadily into his mind. But what really concerned Snape today was the unfamiliar member of their attack party.

Barty Crouch was an unknown entity. He was young, impetuous, itching for a chance to prove himself. Snape had seen that fanatical gleam in another's eyes before – Bellatrix Lestrange. And that look normally accompanied wanton violence and death.

"Stay behind me," hissed Snape to Barty. "Watch my back."

"I'm here to help kill the old man, not play lookout. I don't take orders from you!"

"Disobeying a superior during a raid, ignoring the Dark Lord's rules already?"

"Fine, fine, just get on with it," snarled Barty. His eyes shifted from Snape's back to the wooden house. "Come out and play Bones!"

The Death Eaters waited but there was no movement…then a loud bang sounded, screams echoing from within the house.

"What the bloody hell was that?" snarled Karkaroff.

"One of them tried to apparate. The Sanctum charm probably caused a painful splinching," answered Snape.

"We're going in, watch the back!" yelled Macnair from the front yard.

"Reducto!" sounded a yell and the front of the house exploded, showering the beach with wooden bits. Snape, Karkaroff and Barty could hear yells and screams rattling from inside the home as the Death Eaters and Edgar dueled.

Barty was heaving, his breath coming in excited gasps – he was longing to get inside and wreak havoc.

"What the hell are we waiting for?!" yelled Barty, barely able to contain himself. An awful grimace appeared on his red face.

"Okay," said Karkaroff, "It's time!" He pointed his wand at the back door and it flew inward, smashed off its ball bearing hinges.

Snape was the first into the house and spied Edgar up ahead a long hallway dueling with Macnair. Avery was laying prostrate on the ground, Mulciber nowhere in sight. Snape pointed his wand at Edgar's back, but before he could cast a spell, he was roughly pushed aside by Barty. "Out of the way!" Barty yelled as they both tumbled to the ground.

"Stupefy!" yelled Macnair and Edgar ducked. The spell flew past him, over the fallen pair of Snape and Barty, and hit Karkaroff square in the chest, who froze midstride and fell stiffly to the ground.

Barty scrambled over Snape and began firing off spells at Edgar, but his aim was all over the place. The wayward spells flew haphazardly around, hitting every inch of the house – bits of furniture and wall were blown to smithereens. Snape struggled to his feet and pushed forward, close behind Barty.

"Enough! Drop your wand Edgar or I swear to God we'll burn this goddamn house to the ground – with your family still inside!" bellowed Snape.

Edgar kept his wand in front of him, slowly backing away into a corner – indecision plastered on his face. Blood was splattered across his face, a deep gash shining red high on his forehead. The poor man was slowly accepting his fate, hoping against hope his family could somehow remain unscathed.

Just as Edgar was lowering his wand, footsteps pounded from overhead – his wife and their two young sons came charging down the stairs. They were brandishing their wands wildly above their heads in frantic desperation – they were not going to stand idly by while their loved one met a violent end.

Barty waved his wand at them, causing a loud explosion on the stairs – one of the boys disappeared in the blast. With an earsplitting shriek, Edgar's wife pointed her wand at Macnair and fired off a stream of metal spears.

"Protego!" yelled Macnair as he rolled out of the way.

Edgar turned and yelled "Incarcerous!" at Barty, who ducked immediately. Thick black ropes sailed through the air, past the now prone Barty, and struck Severus. They wrapped themselves tightly around him like pythons and he fell to the ground, a useless doll relegated to the sidelines. His wand slipped from his grasp, inches from his now binded hand. Snape scrunched up his eyes, frowning in concentration.

"Accio wand!" Snape yelled. "Accio! Accio wand!"

The wand wiggled slightly, but moved no closer to him. He was no Lord Voldemort. He was no Dumbledore. Wandless magic was not in the young man's repertoire.

"Accio wand!" Snape let out a frustrated yell, the ropes still tightly coiled around him. The ropes began to pulse, slowly squeezing the breath out of him. All around him were yells and screams of pain. Despite his nature, he found himself silently rooting for the Bones family.

"Please not my son!"

"Run baby run!"

"Damnit Barty, control yourself man!"

Snape lay helplessly on the ground as duels raged around him – bits of debris and splinters of wood flying around and slammed into the ground all around him. He could barely turn his head, only able to catch glimpses of the wild fight being waged in the broken house. Snape's breathing became ragged, stars popping in his eyes – the cords squeezing tighter than ever.

Finally, the screaming and explosions stopped and Snape felt the thick ropes choking the life out of him vanish into thin air – the original caster was either incapacitated or dead. Snape rolled onto his back, coughing violently as he tried to suck in mouthfuls of precious air.

Snape found himself being helped to his feet by a battered Macnair. Looking around, the house was in complete shambles, total destruction evident – a tornado had passed through the home. But the most unsettling thing was the empty silence – no screams of pain or anger or desperate pleading, just a yawning emptiness. Bloodied bodies lay silent and unmoving, alongside wrecked furniture.

Snape stumbled out of the destroyed foyer, through a massive hole that had been blown through the front door. Hot disgust and shame welled up inside of him. He feel to his knees on the beach and puked out his repulsion.

He could hear the other Death Eaters straggling out of the house behind him and tried to control his breathing, taking deep breathes to compose himself. Weakling! Stop it! What will they say if you start crying!

Snape had been part of attacks before, had even found them thrilling at first. But those battles had been waged against trained aurors, the missions made sense back then – they had a clear and direct purpose. Attacking one lone wizard, with his family nearby…this was not what he had signed up for. How was murdering a pure blood wizard helping to advance the Dark Lord's vision of a safer and more secure wizarding future?

Snape turned around – Macnair was helping Karkaroff carry an unconscious Avery towards their makeshift campsite. Mulciber limped along behind them, holding a cloth to his bloody and broken nose. The house was in shambles – part of it was smoldering, angry flames licking the roof. Snape couldn't bear it anymore – he trudged off after Avery, pondering the decisions that had led him to this very moment.

The only sound behind Snape was Barty's heavy panting. But it didn't sound as though the young Death Eater was tired from the fight. Rather, it sounded as though Barty was thrilled, in the final throes of ecstasy and Snape had to swallow down another wave of revulsion…

* * *

…Snape stared at Dumbledore – it had been almost an hour since the headmaster had gulped down Snape's memory. The headmaster sat peacefully in a leather chair, slowly breathing, his eyes fluttering every once in a while. Dumbledore was in a deep trance, completely unaware of his surroundings. Is he able to see everything that I did? He looks so helpless, so unguarded – I wonder if he can sense me right now…Snape's mind jumped to the Dark Lord, who would have given anything to be here in this room…right now…with Dumbledore's guard completely down…

Suddenly, the bright blue eyes fluttered open as Dumbledore let out a shocked gasp and then began sucking in air as if he had been underwater for a long minute. He then at up in his chair and glanced at Snape.

There was no shock, no anger, no repugnance, no loathing in the old man's face – just a look of empathy with a twinge of disappointment.

Dumbledore's look of pity stung Snape more severely than the young man thought possible.


	8. Blood is Thicker than Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Eater initiation.

**Chapter 8**

**Blood is thicker than Water**

Screams and joyous yells peppered the cool night air, with elated voices saturating all ambient sound. Deep within the Forest of Dean, a large group of Death Eaters were celebrating unabashedly and wholeheartedly. Life can be a difficult, tumultuous journey full of hardship and loss, but sometimes life could be oh so very sweet.

The months had been marked with success after resounding success for the Death Eater movement. More and more recruits were joining or successfully coerced into helping the pure blood cause. Lord Voldemort had inspired all manner of dark creatures to join his ranks – giants, spiders and even centaurs rallied to his side. The Ministry of Magic had been suffering defections on a daily basis and the Order of the Phoenix was losing members faster than Dumbledore could replenish its ranks.

Tonight, amongst old ruins nestled deep within a forest, a dark revelry was in full swing due to the deaths of Gideon and Fabian Prewett – two highly capable members of the Order. The heroes of the night were Barty Crouch and Antonin Dolohov, the only survivors of a five man Death Eater assassination squad that had been dispatched to deal with the formidable brothers. Dolohov had dueled beautifully that night and, helped along by Barty's reckless abandon, had killed the famous wizards from the Order.

Food, drink and praise were being doled out by all in attendance. There was a cheerfulness floating in the air, buoyed by the knowledge that two powerful and dangerous wizards for the other side were long gone. On top of that, the Dark Lord had just given congratulations to the gathered soldiers before leaving the festivities with a dramatic flash. The remaining Death Eaters were all basking in the afterglow of the rare praise bestowed upon them from their dark leader.

However, not all in attendance were in a celebratory mood. One wizard stood off to the edge of the festivities, solemn and alone. Severus Snape's feelings of confusion and isolation were steadily mounting, despite the success of the dark movement – he was becoming further and further disenchanted with his dark brethren and their righteous cause. There had not even been a moment of silence tonight for the fallen Death Eaters – His precious Dark Lord had not even mentioned their names or acknowledged their sacrifice once in his victory speech. They were immediately forgotten and left to dust, not even given a proper burial. Uncontrolled killings, entire families now being targeted – the noble movement was unraveling at the seams from Snape's point of view.

Yet he was still conflicted, still drawn to the Dark Lord and His message. Snape had known only pain and abandonment before Lord Voldemort, before the Death Eaters, before the war. An intolerant father, an ineffectual mother, no siblings from which to draw companionship and support. It had been an unhappy and disjointed childhood…and Hogwarts was supposed to have been his escape, his rebirth, a second chance at a happy and productive life.

His mother had promised that the famous school would improve his lot in life and give him the opportunity to realize his full potential. He had dreamed of nothing else as a small child, a magnificent castle that would teach him to harness his god given abilities. But when he arrived at Hogwarts it was more of the same.

Yes, he finally had an outlet to channel his magical prowess, but his social circumstances hardly improved. Never really accepted by his mates in House Slytherin, teased mercilessly by students in Gryffindor and the other houses – in many ways Hogwarts had been no different from Spinner's End, just a new setting for life to kick at him. It was Severus against the world, save for one person there…but that one flicker of happiness had been snuffed out a long time ago.

And just when Snape was at the end of his frayed rope, he had been introduced to the Dark Lord, who had filled him with a sense of purpose and acceptance he had not thought possible. Through the Dark Lord he had gained riches, power and his most secret desire – respect. Finally his talents were being recognized and celebrated. He was going to help shape the future and build a better world, right the injustices of the world, help wizards rise once again from the shadows.

But no matter how much Snape tried to convince himself otherwise, he was now ill at ease with the path the Dark Lord was leading him down. Snape could be selfish, mean and cynical – but within his true nature there was no place for evil. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he had a moral compass, a conscious – and it had been growing heavy with regret for some time. The Dark Lord's vision was changing, becoming frighteningly twisted – His true colors bursting forth as his dark power grew.

Even the Dark Lord's appearance was growing more and more distorted – it must be related to the experiments He would occasionally mention in casual asides. I remember Him mentioning once something about a path to immortality…Snape had a growing suspicion that the Dark Lord was more interested in living forever, rather than helping further the wizarding cause.

And then there was His constant obsession the Potter's. Snape had lost Lily long ago to that evil boy and had tried hard to forget his love for her – it was torture living in a constant state of regret, he did not want to waste his time on Earth constantly dreaming about what could have been, what a fool he was. He had been so worried about losing her affection, instead of focusing on their friendship and enjoying her company. He had wasted so many precious moments with her! Wasted her love on needless worry and doubt!

Over time Snape had been able to block Lilly's memory during his waking hours, but she would always creep back to haunt him at night – turning his dreams into nightmares. Oh how he missed her. Just knowing she was safe and happy, even if it was not with him, had been a small source of comfort. But now the Dark Lord had become consumed with her – specifically her little boy. Finding their location was brought up constantly and the Dark Lord was becoming impatient. Since Snape had become a Death Eater, not a single person bestowed a death sentence by the Dark Lord had survived for this long.

And I was the one who had brought the prophecy back to the Dark Lord's ears, I was the one who had jeopardized Lily's future. What atrocities did I commit in my previous to life to have been dealt such a cruel twist of fate in this one? Snape had always believed that someday they would find their way back to each other – it had been a persistent dream that had never wandered far his thoughts. They had been best friends for so long, she had saved him from himself so many times when they were younger…how could they not end up together in the very end?

Towards the end of their time at Hogwarts, Snape had believed his Death Eater exploits would impress Lilly so much that she would have come back to him – left that scumbag Potter and begged him to take her back. These days Snape's fantasies involved him saving her from the Dark Lord, winning her over with his courage and bravery with Potter cowering, terrified in the background – an ultimate redemption. Some fantasies even had his hated enemy dead after a large battle to save Lily. She would remember their love for one another, she would finally realize that…

Snape broke out of his brooding reverie – he felt intrusive eyes upon him and looked up. A young Death Eater was also on the outskirts of the party staring at him very intently. Snape was instantly reminded of the one man on this Earth that he hated as much as James Potter. Sirius Black's younger brother was glaring at him in a very unsettling way. Rumors were the young man was a naturally gifted legilimens and powerful at occlumency. I wonder if he's trying to read my mind…

Snap! The sound of a twig being crushed underneath a heavy boot brought Snape's head around, his hand instinctively reaching for the wand stashed inside his robes.

"Severus, what're you doing out here all alone?" asked Lucius, having appeared through a small copse of oaks. He waved his finger at Snape. "You must make more of an effort to partake in the celebrations. Come now, join me little brother."

A gang of Death Eaters, led by Bellatrix Lestrange, appeared from the darkness behind Lucius. Floating ominously above them was a terrified muggle – he appeared to be screaming, but no sound escaped his lips.

"Brothers!" yelled Lucius at the revelers, but no one seemed to notice him among the laughter and friendly banter. Rather than being put out, Lucius was quite amused. He then pointed his wand at his own throat, said "Sonorus!" and spoke; his voice echoed loudly over the crowd, booming into every corner of the ruins and quieting the party.

"Brothers! We've brought forth Thomas Burnham from Leicester…for tonight is his initiation!"

This proclamation brought forth a burst of energy and a renewed roar spread through the crowd.

"And for his initiate sacrifice he has chosen a muggle. A muggle who was caught…harassing a young witch!"

The crowd quickly gathered around the new arrivals, hissing and spitting at the terrified muggle floating above them. Bellatrix pointed her wand at the floating man and he spilled onto the forest floor with a hard thud. He quickly rolled onto his back, hands up in surrender, eyes begging for mercy.

"Please – someone help me! I don't know what's going on! Who are you people?!"

A circle of Death Eaters closed in on the terrified man. Jeers and taunts whistled at him, leering faces glaring angrily from beneath darkened hoods. There was a break in the circle and a young man was pushed forward – a look of grim determination was plastered across his face. A wand was thrust into the young man's hand and he quickly pointed it at the terrified muggle cowering on the cold ground. Snape quietly slipped away from the screaming crowd, bile slowly rising to his throat – he knew what was coming next, knew what was expected from someone who wanted to prove their worth and earn the dark mark.

"Crucio!"

Screams of agony rang out through the Forest of Dean, muffling Snape's footsteps. The initiation could last all night as Snape well knew – a frozen finger crawled up his spine as his thoughts drifted back to…

* * *

…"The Dark Lord is not present for every initiation," explained Lucius as he walked alongside Severus down a darkened street.

"Then who brands us with the dark mark?"

"Oh he eventually brands each and every one of us, but He doesn't always attend each "ceremony". It's truly an honor for Him to be present here tonight. He sees something in you Severus…as do I."

The two Slytherin alumni continued along in silence for a few minutes. The dirty street was lined with half deserted brick houses and broken street lamps. In the distance, a muddy river winded its way around an abandoned mill and even the night air seemed to have a thin film of grime upon it.

The tall Death Eater and lanky initiate slowed their pace as they rounded a corner – a group of hooded figures were up ahead, standing silently outside a run-down brick house at the end of the road. The yellow paint on the house was faded, with water stains and large cracks decorating the porch steps and front door. The front yard was cracked and barren with a dearth of healthy grass, it appeared as though it hadn't been tended to in years – an air of neglect and disrepair hung over the worn down house

"Most people select strangers," Lucius said. "I chose this insolent muggle loving wizard who used to work for the Ministry with one of my uncles. But you Severus, you've chosen someone so close to you. Very impressive. We're all so…overwhelmed with your show of devotion to the dark."

Lucius and Severus continued towards the hooded group, who made an eerie, unsettling sight – a menacing contingent of hangmen standing as silent guardians in dappled moonlight. When the two Slytherins reached the waiting group, Lucius stopped and silently his Death Eater mask appeared across his face. He then walked into the silent crowd and became anonymous amongst the rest of his brethren. Snape stared at the hooded group, not one moved a muscle. Severus stepped his way through the group and stopped before of the dilapidated front steps, nervously wiping sweat from his brow.

Severus was trembling, tiny shudders quivering through his body. I think I've made a grave mistake, I'm not ready…I can't do this. This was going to be too personal – in my haste to impress I've made a rash decision. Can I back out? He would understand, listen to reason. Had anyone ever changed their mind during an initiation? Snape snuck a quick glance behind him – the hooded group patiently stared back at him through impassive masks, their silence actually heightening their terrifying appearance. Snape turned back to the house and closed his eyes. As his resolve wavered and threatened to dissolve completely, a dark voice spoke.

"Go forth Severus." hissed the Dark Lord.

Severus took an involuntary step forward and almost screamed out in terror – The Dark Lord's raspy voice came not from the waiting group, but from within Snape's own head.

"Seek out deserved justice. I can see it in your dark heart…I know what this this monster did, I know what he took from you."

Severus fought back tears and responded just by thinking, "I know my Lord, I know…I'm r-ready…t-to enter your service…it's just that…I've n-never…taken a life before."

"Go now Severus! He has eluded justice for far too long. Do not hesitate! I'm your _father_ now!"

The teenager still couldn't move forward, terrified of his new master yet petrified of confronting the echoes of his past.

"Go now Severus! For her…for your Mother…"

The Dark Lord pressed the right lever – Severus' frozen limbs broke free and pushed forward. He walked up the cracked stone steps and purposefully kicked in the front door with large crash.

Severus stepped across broken glass and inside the house – a dingy sitting room lay ahead and had the feeling of a dark padded cell. The walls were covered in fraying wallpaper; a threadbare sofa, an old rocking chair and a rickety, crooked table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by the glow of an old TV.

An old man sat slouched low on the sofa, a half-eaten sandwich resting on his chest. Thinning white hair and moles dotted his balding scalp. A lifetime of booze had given his skin a jaundiced twinge and he had dark, sunken eyes. His clothes matched the unkempt appearance of the room. He didn't even look up as Snape slammed the cracked door shut.

"There ain't nutin here for ya to take," said the old man. "I dun have nutin worth a copper penny. Now get out ya hooligan." He reached into his mouth to rearrange some chewing tobacco nestled against his lower lip and spit angrily onto the floor.

Severus stared in disgust at this pathetic creature, the slovenly pig who lorded over this squalid hovel. He reached into his robes and withdrew his wand, willingly his hand to be steady. He pointed it threateningly at the old man, red anger flashing across his black eyes.

"I said I ain't got nutin fer ya! Look around ya fool, it look like I made 'o money?" The old man turned in his sofa to get a look at this idiot robber. His face registered shock at the long black robe and oaken wand pointed at his head. He was even more stunned when he looked into the face of the angry young man. Total surprise and disbelief, which quickly melted into resentment.

"Finally come back 'ave you? After all this time? Run of out of magic money, then? Come here with your hand out? Filthy boy. Wasted all my hard earned wages on ya, didn't I? You and yer damn witch mother!"

"My witch mother? Tell me…father…what happened to her?" Snape struggled to spit out with words, as if speaking with the old man was causing him pain.

"She ran off, didn't she? Serves me right for marryin' a freak. Shoulda listened to me mates, all of 'em warned me she'd turn out no good."

"What happened to her?"

"Ran off I said. Don't cha remember? Ya run off too, like a damned coward."

Severus took an angry step forward. "What happened to her?"

The old man shrank back as Snape kept advancing.

"What happened to her?!"

"She was a witch, wasn't she? Tried to attack me! I swear it!"

Severus towered over the decrepit old man, his angry eyes demanding an acceptable answer, but the old man bowed his head and kept it steadfastly down.

"What…happened…to…her?" Severus whispered, as he gently put his finger under the old man's chin and tilted the weathered face up to his own.

Severus stared into the weary eyes. They were deep dark pools of black, just like his son's. Severus stared hard, allowing his memories to fly free…

* * *

…Ten year old Severus lay on a small bed, staring out a small window, in a small bedroom. Thunder echoed loudly, keeping time with the rain pelting the window. Severus was glad for the thunder storm – it drowned out the usual shouting match that concluded most nights in the Snape household.

His grandfather had told him a couple of years ago he was a wizard, that he came from magical stock. His mother had been upset he had been told so early and warned Severus to never use his magic, to hide it deep down and that when he was older he would go to magical school and learn how to control his gift – for if he didn't hide his abilities from others and behave, he wouldn't be allowed to attend. Afterwards, he could decide for himself whether or not he wanted to remain part of the magical world. Why the heck would he not want to be part of another world, far away from this awful existence!?

His grandfather held a much different view. Wizards were powerful beings and shouldn't have to hide their god given talents. He had once told Severus "rules were meant to be broken. Never you mind the Ministry regulations, those meddling fools. I'll teach ya what's what, and by the time ya get to Hogwarts you'll know more curses than half the kids in seventh year."

His grandfather taught him so much, opened his eyes to the amazing power and privilege that it was to be a wizard. Severus had no friends, save for one and she was busy much of the time. He spent his lonely hours locked up in his grandfather's attic reading old books and watching old movies, all collected over a lifetime of traveling around the wizarding world.

Severus could never understand why his mother never used magic, never protected herself from that man, that bully, that damned brute. He wasn't my father, no matter what anyone said. I don't care if I look like him, that man is not my father. My father was a great wizard who protected people and stood up for the less fortunate, not an angry drunk that rained down equal amounts of indifference and terror.

A loud bang startled Severus and he looked away from the rainy window and towards his bedroom door. After a few moments he turned back to the window, must have imagined it…but he didn't imagine the scream that rang out moments later. He leapt from his bed and threw open the door, sprinting into the hallway as fast as his little legs could carry him. His father was standing at the top of the stairs, swaying on his drunken feet, a small gin bottle grasped in his hands. He turned towards his son with an angry lurch.

"Get back to yer room boy. I'll deal with ya later, won't I?" spat the dark haired man. He chucked the glass bottle at Severus, then bounded down the stairs.

Severus ducked as the bottle whooshed by and shattered against the wall, showering the little boy with glass shards. Severus stood frozen in shock for a second, but another frightened yell spurred him into action. He raced down the hall and sliding on his knees when he got to the top of the stairs. He grasped the bannister as he slid by and pulled himself back to his feet – he saw below the wicked man standing over his crouched mother. No, not a wicked man. It was his father, raising his hand, balling it into a fist and swinging it down like a hammer. Severus never forgot the sickening thud that sounded as balled fist hit waiting skull. That crunch stayed with him, forever.

Little Severus ran down the stairs two at a time, almost losing his balance several times. He reached the bottom step and launched himself onto his father's back, his little body shaking with rage. His father flung him off his back and onto the floor with a strong whip of his body. Severus landed on his back and crashed into an old rocking chair. As his father rounded on him, Severus looked over at his mother's slumped body and knew – just knew, deep down in his bones – that she would never rise again. Would never serve him a cup of steaming hot soup on a cold winter morning, wipe away his watery tears when others teased him, gently tuck him into bed after an exhausting day.

The fury he felt was so intense, so passionate, it consumed his whole being. Just as his father reached him, drunkenly readying his fist for a vicious hammer blow, Severus yelled out in fright, in terror, in desperate longing for his injured mother whom he could not protect.

A pulse emanated from Severus' little frame, rippling the air with waves, and his father flew high into the air and smashed into the stairway railing. Both father and son were shocked, what had just happened?

"I was just gonna give ya a wee thumpin'. Ya bein brave 'n all, trying help yer no good witch mom. But now I'm a teach you a right lesson."

His father struggled back up to his feet, a sickening alcohol smell seeping from his bones. He spared a glance at his unmoving wife, felt nothing and rounded on his boy once more. Little Severus balled up his scrawny little body, shielding his head with his stringy arms. As his father's bloody fists rained down on him, Severus stared at his mother, never taking his eyes off her body, he was already missing her…she had loved him so…never stood up to that man, never protected herself…she didn't deserve such an ignominious end…

* * *

…Balled fists rained down with authority, white knuckles ripped open as they smashed into flesh, flecks of blood splattered the walls in a harlequin pattern. Screams from the victim mixed loudly with screams from the aggressor. There was no stopping this storm, the floodgates were open – hammer fists broke nose, split open lips, loosened teeth, dislocated jaw. Eventually skin was stripped away and knuckle hit bone. The old man's face was unrecognizable – he had stopped screaming long ago and now only Severus' screams remained. He was completely spent, a decade of righteous wrath and pent up rage had been released. He glanced back towards the foot of the stairs, just as he had done ten years ago as a small child, to the spot where she had stopped fighting and left him all alone.

He rolled off the old man and crawled across the dirty floor to a dark corner of the living room, the dull glow of the old TV lighting his way. He could still felt the white hot pain of losing his mother, the burning shame at not being strong enough to protect her. Why didn't this beating make the anger melt away?

Severus finally let go and let sobs wrack his tired body. He cried for a good long while…enough now, time to get up.

He wiped away the tears of his childhood, wiped away the memory of his father and mother – Snape was a child no longer. He inched over to the front wall, pushed aside a blind and peeked out the window. The dark group still held their silent vigil in the front yard, half hidden in the cloudy moonlight. The Dark Lord stood alone in front, his face hidden beneath a black cloak, his spindly long fingers twirling a black wand. How long had it been?

When Snape stood up, he felt like lighter, more assured of himself. Exacting justice had not erased the torment of that long ago night, nothing ever would, but exacting justice had begun to assuage some of his guilt. It was time to let go and look towards the future. He had proven he was now strong enough to protect those he loved, to stand up for those who could not. Under the Dark Lord's tutelage he would learn how to make his enemies pay for their sins, this was just the beginning.

Snape spied his wand on the floor and snatched it up, wiping away bits of blood and skin. He had been instructed to use the cruciatus curse for a prolonged period and then the killing curse on his initiate victim. But somehow Snape felt that the Dark Lord would not mind the savage beating he just inflicted with his bare hands, that he would be excused this one time for not carrying out his master's orders to the letter.

Snape opened the door to the unkempt house – no, to _his_ house – and stepped onto the creaking porch. Splattered blood flecked his black robes and gleamed in the moonlight, giving him an unnatural haunted look. He faced the Death Eaters still keeping their hushed watch on the house. Snape was longer scared, the hooded group did not intimidate him, for he now belonged among them, he had earned his place. Snape raised his hood, covered his head and marched down the front steps. He walked past his Dark Lord and into the crowed, pacing among his still brothers and sisters. He finally stopped and settled beside two of them near the center of the group. Snape then slowly raised his wand, turned his eyes to the sky and screamed with all his might "MORSMORDRE!"

Moving as one, the Death Eaters threw back their hoods, their masks shining in the moonlight. They yelled and screamed, stamped their feet and angrily waved their wands – green streaks shot high into the night sky. They rushed forward and surrounded Snape in a close embrace. They were now his loving family, replacing the ghosts of his empty past.

Only one of them did not rush to welcome Snape into the dark fold. Lord Voldemort stood where he was, feeling content and relaxed. This one was special, different, he would be most useful in the coming years. Using his bare hands had been a primal, savage act – anger and hate coursed through him like an angry river. He just needed to be taught how to focus this wayward anger into terrible purpose. Lord Voldemort had witnessed what had occurred in the home that night, seen through the crumbling walls and frayed wallpaper. This young man had the constitution to do what was necessary, he could be counted on. He stared up at the night sky, with a face not quite human, with eyes not yet slits, with dark pupils not yet scarlet.

Over the very last house on a street named Spinner's End floated a colossal green skull comprised of emerald stars, a green serpent protruded from its mouth as a grotesque forked tongue. It rose higher and higher, radiantly glowing in a haze of green and silver, etched against the black night sky like a twisted new constellation.

It was the Dark Mark and the skull would soon become infamous across the entire wizarding world – its appearance would forever strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest souls. It signified to any passersby that Death Eaters had come calling and left violence in their wake. It signified ruin and destruction. It signified that someone had met a bloody end, never to rise ever again.


	9. To the Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone discovers the Dark Lord's most precious secret.

**Chapter 9**

**To the Dark Lord**

The office could only be accessed through a lengthy corridor, past two gargoyle statues and up a long circular staircase. Its entrance was guarded by a magnificent oak door lined with magical script and ancient runes. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. Towards the back was an enormous, claw-footed desk and, sitting on a shelf behind it, was a shabby, tainted wizard's hat – the famous Sorting Hat.

To the right of the desk was a large vertical glass cabinet, which held rows and rows of clear vials – each filled to brim with whirling, silvery mist. A large metal basin sat on the bottom shelf, ancient runes tracing its sides. To the left of the desk stood a glass case which housed a long broadsword. The sword was made of pure silver, its hilt inlaid with shining red rubies. A famous wizarding name was engraved in silver along a stretched golden handle. The sword was goblin made and constructed from the rarest of metals on Earth – a truly one of a kind blade.

Along the top of the room's walls were self-portraits of famous witches and wizards – most appeared to be dozing, but every so often one of them would open their eyes and take a quick peek around. Crammed along the base of the walls were small bookshelves stuffed full of worn tomes and volumes, threatening to topple at any moment. The shelves contained such a vast amount of muggle and magical text that one would need to live several lives in order to read through it all, and live several more lives to truly comprehend everything.

The room served as the office for the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The current headmaster was sitting behind the large desk, facing backwards – directly into a great, yawning fireplace. He was serenely staring at the empty hearth, as if an engrossing movie was playing within the empty space. Suddenly green fire sparked up in the fireplace and, impossibly, a floating head appeared. The face was pale and draped with long black greasy hair. As usual Severus Snape looked anxious, furtively glancing around every few seconds as if a spectre were haunting his steps, whereas Dumbledore looked supremely calm, not a care in the world.

"I'm here Dumbledore. What's so urgent?"

"Are you predisposed at the moment?

"I'm here aren't I?

"Have you suddenly run out of floo powder?"

"It's much too risky Dumbledore, His spies are everywhere! The Ministry can't be trusted!"

Dumbledore continued to calmly stare at Snape, his face inscrutable. With an annoyed grimace, Snape's head wavered and then vanished – s later shimmering green flames enveloped the fireplace and Snape spun out of fire, brushing his robes and spilling ash on the floor.

"I shouldn't have to appear here every time you beckon, like a common servant. If I'm caught in your presence I would die a slow, painful death."

"Severus, please dispense with the usual theatrics – you don't seriously believe I would allow anyone to monitor my office, do you?"

Snape answered by silently stalking over to one of the big comfy armchairs lining the room and melting into it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

"You must move Lily again, I've heard chatter about the apartment in Lexington. They shouldn't stay in one place longer than a week, a fortnight at the absolute most. Something just doesn't feel right… there's a rat in your midst Dumbledore…I think you have a spy within the Order." Snape opened his eyes and looked at Dumbledore, expecting him to argue or casually dismiss his warning.

Dumbledore thought for a few moments before responding. "I do believe you're right."

"You must root him out now. The Dark Lord tells us your plans before you tell me. It's as if he's listening at your very doorstep." Snape gave an involuntary glance to the office door, as if someone might be listening.

"Yes, I've had suspicions for a while now, but I'm not yet sure…tell me Severus, are you the only Death Eater that's had second thoughts about the ultimate…goal of Voldemort?"

"Do not speak his name!"

"Are there any other of your comrades you may be able to…turn to the light?"

"No, none. I'm sure some have reservations, but they'd never confide their doubts to me…I'm not the best at building close relationships. And besides, fear of retribution is too great for people to risk voicing their doubts. He has recently made some, uhhh, examples of non-believers."

"Yes, the Prophet had mentioned only finding bits and pieces of some of your brothers. I'm asking only because I received a very interesting visit from an old house-elf the other day. His message contained some disturbing information and I wish to meet the creature's master to corroborate what I was told."

"A feeble ploy to tempt you out from cover, many of these tricks will come your way now – be on guard. The Dark Lord has put a bounty on your head, almost as large a reward as the one for Lily's child."

"Well, I'm honored Voldemort thinks so highly of me."

As Snape began hissing at him to not use the Dark Lord's name, Dumbledore's thoughts drifted to the odd visitor he had received the night before…

* * *

…It was late into the evening and Dumbledore was finishing the last of a series of letters to various members of the Wizengamot – Britain's wizarding high court of law. His duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts, responsibilities as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, obligations as special advisor to the Minister of Magic and the stress of the secret war the Order had been fighting – it all lead to late nights and a dangerous lack of sleep. Tired wizards make mistakes and the cleverer the wizard, the greater the mistake. The burden of obligation had been weighing on him lo' these many nights, but Dumbledore strived to keep maintain a carefree and airy demeanor in public towards his detractors – kill them with kindness.

But here, all alone in his office, he allowed his nonchalant façade to fall away. He wearily rubbed his eyes, leaned back in his leather chair and let out a tired sigh. He glanced up at the sleeping portraits, thankful for the school founders' imagination and ability to create the magic that allowed previous headmasters to "live on". He had sought their counsel countless times and could confide in them his doubt and fears without any risk of ridicule or betrayal. The portraits were magically bound to assist the current and rightful headmaster of the school, to serve as faithful consiglieres. Although they weren't obliged to be polite thought Dumbledore as he spied the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. He chuckled to himself as he was about to rudely awaken the former Slytherin headmaster to instigate some good natured ribbing when – Crack!

All the portraits awoke at once and began shouting in alarm.

"What was that? How was that creature able to get in here!?"

"Dumbledore look out!"

"We're under attack!"

An old house-elf now stood in the middle of Dumbledore's office. Except for the black towel wrapped like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. Its wrinkly skin seemed to be a few times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a small amount white hair growing out of its large, bat like ears. Its eyes were watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snout like. It was shivering, even though a fire was blazing hot in Dumbledore's fireplace.

House-elf magic was a deep and ancient branch of magic, and the Hogwarts anti-apparition enchantments had appeared to fail in preventing this intrusion. Dumbledore stared hard at the small, stooped house-elf– he knew he had seen this creature before.

"Professor Dumbledore," squeaked the house-elf as he bowed low. "I'm to deliver a message to you, only for your ears!"

"And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"I am Kreacher," croaked the creature. "Loyal servant of the Bl-, umm, oh no! My master family's identity must be kept secret!"

A stricken look came over the house-elf and he took off head-first for the sharp corner of Dumbledore's desk. Right before the pathetic creature reached the jagged wooden edge, Dumbledore flicked his hand and Kreacher bounced harmlessly away. The elf then tried to punish himself by slamming his forehead into the floor, but found he couldn't quite reach it – as if there were an invisible barrier guarding the floor.

"Kreacher, that quite enough. You've not revealed your Master's namesake, now please continue with your message."

Kreacher looked up to Dumbledore, back to the ground, and then swept his eyes across the room, searching out dangerous to use in his next act of penance. He finally came to the conclusion that the tall wizard was not going to allow any further acts of violent contrition and sat down on the floor looking quite defeated.

"I've been tasked with speaking to the famous Headmaster of Hogwarts to deliver a message of great importance. It must only be heard by the famous teacher, the revered leader of the Wizengamot, the renowned Supreme…"

"I'm well versed with all of my pretentious titles, Kreacher – by the way, I'm not sure if you knew, but I was also voted best dressed at last year's Ministry of Magic Christmas gala. Now please dispense with the introductions and tell me the message your been tasked to relay."

"Yes sir! My master is proud and loyal to your kind, securing the safety of the wizarding world is of the utmost importance. He wants me to tell you what _his_ master asked of me, he says to me that he needs to pass on this information…in case…in case something befalls him!" Kreacher whispered in between watery tears.

"Please go on," implored Dumbledore. He slowly stowed his wand back in his robes – he was beginning to believe this was not a ruse.

"My master volunteered me for an important mission, to help the honorable Dark Lord. Kreacher was to play a vital role in helping the pure bloods! The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a large mountain, a cliff by the sea. He went into a dark cave with Him and hid something very important. The Dark Lord placed many powerful enchantments protecting the dark cave. He was laughing and laughing the whole time. The Dark Lord then left Kreacher in the dark cave, left Kreacher in terrible pain. But Kreacher came back, came to his brave master Reg– oh no!"

Dumbledore's arm shot out like a laser and swiftly caught the house-elf in mid sprint for the fire behind his desk.

"What did the Dark Lord hide in the cave Kreacher? You must tell me!"

"Kreacher knows not what was hidden, I swears it!"

"Is there any more to your master's message?"

"My master wants Dumbledore to know that…the Dark Lord is becoming all powerful, soon he will be impossible to…to…to defeat. He will be invincible! Dumbledore must be told! The Headmaster must be warned! He must be aware of what's happening! There is no one else to tell!"

"Kreacher, please stop your shaking and listen to me. You must tell me who your master is, I must meet him! It is imperative!"

The house-elf began to squirm in Dumbledore's grasp, wrenching himself to get free.

"No! I cannot! I'm sworn to secrecy! My family's welfare and reputation must be guarded!"

"Kreacher I can help your master. I can help your family. I can keep all of you safe!"

Kreacher stopped his struggling and looked up into deep piercing, blue eyes.

"Kreacher trust me. I can protect your family. Tell me where this cave is. Tell me who your master is."

"You…can't…save…"

Crack! Dumbledore was left holding air. Frustrated, he turned to one of the portraits behind him.

"Well Armando, I think your theory about the Dark Lord may be correct after all…

* * *

…Snape had dozed off in comfy armchair when he had realized that Dumbledore had drifted off into one his annoying silent reveries. He always slept soundly in Dumbledore's office, a much deeper sleep than he had in his own bed for some reason. Of course, his home held terrible memories and there was probably nowhere in the wizarding world as safe as the Albus Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore's thoughts left Kreacher and he came back to the present. He looked down at his former pupil with renewed interest, but decided to let the poor boy rest. It was doubtful Kreacher's master would have confided anything of consequence to a fellow Death Eater, but perhaps Snape would have an idea of who this master was…Dumbledore could not shake the nagging feeling that he had seen that house-elf once before…

* * *

…The Dark Lord's appearance was growing more and more distorted thought Regulus – it must be related to His secret, the precious secret that only I've discovered, the terrible secret that was pushing them all down this mad path. The arrogant Dark Lord dropped hints about it all the time, He'd never dream that anyone could realize his ultimate goal.

Looking around at the assembled Death Eaters celebrating in the Forest of Dean, Regulus doubted if any of these fanatics had put the clues together. The Dark Lord was selfish and guarded, there was no way he would've confided this information to even his most loyal followers. He would never share his secret to achieving immortality…would he? What about his most devoted servants? He might have confided in the Lestranges…or maybe Lucius Malfoy…what about Snape?

Regulus looked away from the revelers and to the outskirts of the party. Standing off to the side, solemn and alone, was the enigma that was Severus Snape. His black robes clung to a rail thin frame, greasy black hair hiding his dark eyes. He had been in another year at Hogwarts, but they had become friends during Regulus' first few years. Then something had happened and Snape became aloof, distant with everyone.

Even now, Snape appeared to be barely present during the party. Always glum and moody, it seemed as if Snape was content to be forever a misanthrope. Sometimes behaved as if he was being forced to be a Death Eater and yearned to be anywhere else in the world than with his dark brethren. Maybe he felt the same as me, had developed the same misgivings? Maybe he saw the Dark Lord for what He truly was – a psychotic megalomaniac concerned only with Himself and conquering death, and not with the welfare of the wizarding class. Maybe Snape was a fellow non-believer, maybe he too was disgusted with the path the Dark Lord was leading them down. If I could just get him alone and try to read…

Snape snapped out of his brooding and whipped his head up, catching Regulus staring at him – he shot Regulus a scathing look. Shit! Why was I staring for so long? Of course he can't be trusted! He was quickly rising up the Death Eater ranks, so young yet full of magical knowledgeable. He hated muggles and mudbloods, anyone outside of the dark cause. He was rumored to be so brilliant that he had invented new potions and spells that the Dark Lord himself used. Another Death Eater had whispered to Regulus that it had been Snape who had discovered and alerted the Dark Lord to the dangers the Potter boy presented to the cause. Anyone who would willingly put a small child in mortal danger had no heart, no moral compass, could never be trusted.

A loud roar went through the crowd, drawing Regulus' attention to a terrified muggle floating towards the party – another initiate sacrifice. My God, I can't stay around for another of these sadistic ceremonies. Bile rushed to his throat as Regulus reflected back on his sacrifice. That night had haunted his thoughts ever since, giving him no respite or peace in his waking moments. I rushed into this, I've made a grave mistake – I'm going to die following these lunatics around. But I refuse to have my mark in this world, my legacy, be one of murder, terror and violence. I want redemption, to redeem myself and my family name. I'm not evil, I don't hurt the innocent. Empty regret was not enough, I must show my true remorse. I must be brave, for I know the Dark Lord's secret. And God willing, I'm going to do something about it.

Regulus quietly walked off, deeper into the Forest of Dean and away from the tortured screams now ringing through the night. The young man walked through a small copse of trees and into an empty meadow – it was time. Spinning on the spot, he apparated into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. It was so late at night, he hoped his parents wouldn't be awake. If he ran into them now and saw their faces, he didn't think his resolve to visit the hidden cave would hold.

Luckily, (was it luck?) the kitchen was empty and Regulus quietly headed towards a cupboard at the back of the room. He gently pulled open and roused his family house-elf.

"Kreacher wake up," Regulus whispered as he shook the sleep house-elf.

"Master Regulus! Where have you been?! Mistress has been so worried!"

"Quiet Kreacher! Lower your voice, do not wake anyone!" hissed Regulus.

"Sorry Master Regulus," whispered Kreacher as he smacked himself in the forehead.

"Have you told anyone of the Dark Lord's mission? Have you confided in anyone? Anyone at all?"

"No Master Regulus! I have told no one!"

"Quiet Kreacher! Ok, ok, stop that, stop hitting yourself. Come now. Come help me make amends for my sins."

* * *

Salty sea air and crashing waves dominated the scene, a strong ocean breeze whipped across the beach and sent a chill up the young man's spine. A few seagulls were gliding around at this time of night, but nary another creature in sight. A high cliff towered over the beach – it was a straight drop to the blue water below. Jagged rocks littered the base of the cliff, visible due to the low tide. There was a small fissure midway down the steep face of the cliff, almost invisible to the naked eye. It looked impossible to reach, not that anyone would want to. But this fissure was the entrance to a secret cave, and it was there that a young man and a house-elf stood – both apprehensively staring at a wide space of blank rock.

"Are you sure this is the place? None of the spells I've tried have done anything. Kreacher, answer me!"

"Please Master Regulus, let us leave this place. Please! It is very bad place. I don't want go back inside."

Regulus kneeled down to look eye to eye with the terrified house-elf. "Kreacher, don't you want to honor the Black name? And keep Mistress safe?

"Of course Master Regulus!"

"Then we must go inside, you must show me where the Dark Lord went and what He did. We must undo His work, to restore honor the Black family name. Understand?"

"Ok, ok, ok…I will open it. But please Master Regulus, we must be careful."

Kreacher did not want to obey his master, but bound as he was by the ancient magic of his kind, he eventually had to comply. The house-elf punched a rock on the ground, splitting open his weathered knuckles and causing silver green blood to flow down his palm. He then rubbed his bloody hand on the blank rock and the blazing silver outline of a doorway arch appeared, shimmering brightly against the darkness of the night.

Master and loyal servant entered the archway and melted through the rock – on the other side an eerie sight met their eyes. They stepped into a cavern so large that the ceiling rose far out of sight, stood on the edge of a great black lake so vast that Regulus could not make out the distant bank. A misty greenish light shone from up ahead, pulsing from the middle of the lake; it was reflected in the completely still water below. The darkness in the cave was somehow denser than normal darkness – it was an evil darkness, an ancient black menace lurked within.

Kreacher slowly led Regulus around the edge of the lake, their footsteps echoing on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. Regulus began to peer at the lake as they passed, not realizing how close he was drifting to the rippling water.

"Please Master Regulus, stay away from the lake! Evil creatures lay beneath the surface!"

Regulus thought he saw a face float by, no it couldn't be, could it? Did something just move behind me? It felt as though someone was watching them from the shadows, Regulus kept expecting something to attack from the deep dark. The Dark Lord would have lain traps to protect his secret and the silence was absolutely terrifying. He could hear every beat of his heart and each panicked breath he nervously gulp down.

"Where's the boat you told me about?"

"Up head Master Regulus. Please! Let us go back, you've seen enough of this place."

Regulus did not reply, but gently pushed the house-elf further along. The overpowering darkness was terrifying – it would have been just as frightening to stop and turn around then it was to keep pushing ahead.

Kreacher eventually stopped at what seemed like an arbitrary point along the dark shore. He reached out his small right hand and grasped onto something invisible that hung in the air. Kreacher than snapped his fingers on his left hand – a thick coppery green chain suddenly appeared in his clenched right hand and began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls. Emerging from the greenish depths of the lake, at the end of the chain, was a tiny boat. There was just enough room on it for the young man and the house-elf.

"Brave new world," whispered Regulus as he steeled himself and stepped into the boat with Kreacher. The boat magically moved towards the glowing green center of the lake – soon Regulus would meet his maker. Memories from his life, both happy and sad, flashed across his mind – Regulus gradually began to accept that he would never leave this place alive. But rather than turn around, run and flee back to the safety of his home, he sat still and resolute…silently gliding across the lake with his faithful elf.

Regulus had to make amends, for his behavior, for his beliefs, and for the poor innocent man at his initiation…hot tears slid down his cheeks, tasted salty on his dry lips… I will atone, I will redeem myself in this hell of a cave.

Regulus was many things, but he was no coward.

The boat finally came to a halt at a small island of smooth rock protruding from the center of the lake. The island was no larger than a sitting room, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but a raised pedestal in its center. On top of the pedestal rested a stone basin, which emitted the creepy greenish glow.

Regulus already knew what he was going to have to do – Kreacher had recounted to him what the Dark Lord had done and what enchantment He had muttered over the basin.

Regulus stepped off the boat and removed a heavy gold locket from his robes. He sat down on the ground and quickly scrawled a note as fast as his trembling hands would let him.

_To the Dark Lord_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this_

_but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret._

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,_

_you will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

Regulus folded up the note and placed it inside the gold locket he had brought with him, a few tears splashing down upon it.

"Come Kreacher, let us end this."

"No Master Regulus, I won't help. I'm taking you home! To Mistress! We are being very bad!"

"Kreacher, enough! You must obey me!" Regulus' voice reverberated mightily around the cave. The water surrounding the island began to get choppy, ripples spreading outward. Something was down there, lurking restlessly.

"Listen to me very closely Kreacher. I'm going to drink the potion, please, just listen. I'm going to drink the potion in the basin, all of it. Once it's empty you will switch out the locket in there with this one in my hand. You will leave this place at once and never come back, ever. Go home and never tell mother anything about this night, or this place. Never tell her what I've done. She can never know Kreacher, or _Mistress_ will be in great danger."

Regulus grabbed Kreacher by the hand and led him to basin – there was no hesitation in Regulus' step. This was a truly brave boy, he would have made a magnificent Templar Knight in another life.

"If I cannot finish drinking the potion you must help me do it. Do not let me stop drinking it for any reason, no matter what I say or what happens next. I order you to help me finish the entire potion," Regulus instructed his shaking house-elf. "And then I order you to destroy the locket in that basin. Use all your power, cunning and magic. But destroy that locket, it must be done!"

Regulus took a deep breath as he stared down into the basin…and then and idea struck him from nowhere.

"You must do one final thing for me Kreacher, listen close. Find the wizard they call Albus Dumbledore, tell him what we have done. He must be the only one you tell!"

Kreacher mutely nodded his head, eyes filling with tears.

"Say it Kreacher!"

"I promise to obey you Ma-Ma-Master Regulus."

Regulus handed his gold locket to Kreacher, reached into his robes and removed a small cup. Without any hesitation, he plunged the cup into the basin and scooped up some of the potion. For a few minutes the only sounds in the cave were Regulus' steady gulping and Kreacher's soft cries.

Regulus grew whiter and paler, the more he drank. His mind swam with revolting images, his darkest fears laid bare and open. They felt so real, but somehow he never stopped dipping his cup into the potion, never wavered from drinking the vile liquid. The potion should have been driving him mad with grief as horrible nightmares burrowed their way into his mind – his parents being tortured, his brother lying wrecked in a dirty street, brutally murdered. The potion was conceived by an ancient evil, meant to cause the drinker tremendous amounts of physical pain, as well as emotional distress. But Regulus' hand was steady.

When Kreacher had told Regulus about his journey with the Dark Lord, he had repeated to Regulus the ancient spell the Dark Lord had sang when creating awful potion. Regulus had immediately gone to the Lair and tracked down every dark magic book he could get his hands on in the castle's library. He finally found an entry almost matching the incantation in one of the books, and tried his best to create a counter-potion to help withstand the deleterious effects.

As he got down to the last few gulps of the potion, Regulus realized he had not brewed the counter-potion exactly right, for he began to feel an overwhelming thirst – a side effect that should have remedied. But it was of no matter, as luck would have it he was surrounded by a vast lake of fresh water. The last bit of potion slid down his throat and Regulus slumped to the floor in a painful daze.

Kreacher cautiously walked up to the pedestal and looked into the empty basin. Sitting at the bottom, looking perfectly harmless, was a gold locket. It was beautiful, one would never have thought it housed a piece of the soul of the most evil and terrifying dark wizard of all time. A serpentine S, inlaid with glittering emeralds graced the gold cover. The locket pulsed menacingly, the evil contained within could feel approaching danger. Kreacher reached a small quivering hand into the basin…

As Kreacher switched the lockets, Regulus labored to the edge of the lake in a slow crawl, absentmindedly scraping his knees along the way. He was in a cloudy haze, dull and writhing in pain. All he could think about was slaking his burning thirst – just one blessed drop of cold water is all I want! It was if his insides had dried up and his stomach had been filled with dusty sand.

"I've done it Master Regulus! The lockets have been switched! The basin is filling itself back up again. Let us take our leave! Please!"

Kreacher turned around half-triumphant, half-terrified at what he had just done. The old house-elf's last image of that cave was burned into its memory for all time, it would haunt his steps until the day he died. Kreacher watched in horrified shock as his Mistress' youngest son was roughly pulled under the dark lake by the long arms of a cold, pale inferius.

Lord Voldemort's guardian lagoon had conscripted another loyal soldier to its watery army. But now they weren't protecting a piece of their Master's corrupted soul. They were dead sentinels, standing watch over an ordinary piece of gold jewelry. And the last words of a brave Slytherin, who was the only person in the world to discover the Dark Lord's most precious secret.


	10. The Flight of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conflict spills out into open violence.

**Chapter10**

**The Flight of the Phoenix**

The half written letters to the Wizengamot lay discarded and forgotten for the time being – Dumbledore had spent the last hour in his office ignoring them and instead perusing a large leather bound book. It smelled of long ago, pages filled with elaborate drawings and ancient flowery script. Dumbledore’s handwritten notes in his slanted handwriting traced the borders of many of the dog eared pages, giving the tome a textbook feel. He had come across the volume while on a visit to the Durmstrang Institute, a boarding school in northern Scandinavia for young wizards and witches. It was infamous for attracting students with a natural inclination towards the dark arts. He had picked up the book at a flea market near the school, an old merchant had been glad to be rid of it at a fair price. Dumbledore slowly turned the pages, looking for a specific entry _…Harbinger Curse…Halcyon Draught…Helix Choke…Helpless Knife…Hex of Darkness…Horcux…_

_Horcrux:_

_Caveat: The wickedest of all magical inventions, not much has been recorded on this dark topic and associated spells. Much of the information collected for this entry has been observed and recorded from secondhand sources. As much that follows is theory and conjecture, please note that the listed information may be incomplete. Exercise caution._

_Horcrux refers to an earthly object that houses a piece of a wizard’s soul. If a piece of his soul is encased within an object, apart from his corporeal body, the wizard cannot die – even if his original body is destroyed beyond repair. As long as a part of his soul is tethered to the earth, unharmed and safe within a horcrux, the wizard’s main soul cannot pass on – he cannot “die”. The wizard would exist in an ethereal state, not much is known about this form of life. Hunger, thirst, pain – it is unknown what emotions a wizard would feel or how intense any of these emotions would be._

_There are several spells (found later in this text) for reviving a wizard trapped in the ethereal state and transforming him back into a corporeal body._

_It is unknown if a soul piece residing within a Horcux could regenerate into a new, whole soul over time. It is unknown if a Horcrux could last indefinitely or needs magical maintenance. It is unknown how to effectively destroy a Horcrux. This author can note that creating a Horcrux does seem to make the original soul unstable and can have debilitating effects on one’s appearance, health and demeanor._

_The creation of a Horcrux is a two-step process: i) separating a piece from the main soul and ii) encasing the soul piece in an object before it reattaches itself back to the main soul._

_Separating one’s soul: The wizard’s soul is his humanity, the source of his magical ability, what separates him from beast – the basic essence of the wizard. Splitting it requires an unnatural act, something that strongly defiles nature. The only recorded action that has been evidenced to tear apart the soul is murder. Not killing in self-defense, not killing under coercion or duress, not killing to protect a loved one. It must be cold-blooded murder, something that does not exist in nature, a complete violation of the natural code. This act rips the soul apart and a soul piece will float nearby for a time. After a few moments, the piece will try to reattach back to the original soul first and, if that is not possible, it will gravitate towards and attach itself to the closest living thing in the vicinity._

_Be advised that murder, and the resulting consequence of ripping apart the soul, causes the main soul to become unstable (noted above). Repeated murder or further unnatural acts against nature can cause further soul destabilization. The potential disastrous results to one’s appearance, health and vitality are hereto unknown._

_The item that can safely house a soul fragment must be an inanimate object and no larger than a picture frame. This author has never come across evidence of a soul fragment being housed in a very large object or within another living creature. Destroying the object is thought to destroy or release the soul fragment in the ether, thereby rendering the wizard mortal once again. No information is known on whether or not a soul fragment can be safely attached back to the original soul to restore stability._

_Please be advised that the following information is advanced dark magic and improper execution of any spells or incantations can have lethal consequences._

_Spell to capture and encase the soul fragment: Before the murder is committed, the wizard must prepare an object to become a horcrux. The following incantation was recorded by the author after careful use of veritaserum on a convicted murderer before he executed in Bulgaria. Bulgarian spell cadence is required. The incantation is as follows…_

Loud banging interrupted Dumbledore’s reading of the passage entry.

“Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore! Are you in there?!” The transfiguration teacher Minerva McGonagall frantically yelled outside the headmaster’s office, close to total hysteria.

Dumbledore snapped the book shut and waved his wand towards the sleeping young man on his armchair – Snape awoke with a frightened look on his face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You must go Severus, we’ve run out of time tonight – school emergency it seems. Come now, off you go.”

The knocking continued, increasing in frequency and urgency.

“Professor Dumbledore! Please headmaster, are you awake?!”

“Yes Minerva, I’m quite alright. I’ll be out in a second.”

“Albus, it’s the Order. They’re in danger!”

That declaration seemed to spur Dumbledore out of his casual doldrums and into action. He quickly crossed the room to Snape, urging haste.

“Time to go! Now!” Dumbledore helped Snape to his feet and guided him to the fireplace.

“Albus open up! There are Death Eaters attacking right this instant!”

Dumbledore and Snape stopped walking and looked at each other. Dumbledore then slowly raised the sleeve on Snape’s left forearm. The dark mark shone brightly on his pale arm – a small snake quickly slithered in the shape of a figure 8, glowing angrily.

“How did you not feel it burning?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. I was dreaming, quite vividly. He’ll be furious with me,” Snape stammered as he rubbed his forearm, trying to keep the snake still.

“He must be calling you to help with the attack. You must go at once.” Dumbledore grabbed Snape by the collar and steered him into the fireplace. “Be sure to act your part convincingly.”

“It’ll be like fighting with one hand tied behind back!”

“Severus, absolutely no holding back. Injure and incapacitate, if you must…kill. He does not suffer fools!”

“Even against you?! No mercy?!”

“Forgive me Severus, but your dueling best does not frighten me in the slightest. In fact, let me apologize to you now if we are to meet, for I will not hold back against you. Now go to your Dark Lord, go to Lord Voldemort.”

Snape spasmed in pain at the mention of the name. With a final glance at Dumbledore, he threw floo powder into the fireplace and vanished in a green flash.

Snape slide out of his home’s fireplace and spilled onto his living room floor. He sprinted into his potions lab, grabbed a few vials sitting beside a shelf and downed the contents in quick gulps. He then grabbed the dark mark on his left forearm with his right hand and closed his eyes. Images flashed rapidly through his mind – a mountain with steep white cliffs, a forest spread out around its rocky base – there was a town within the forest, with an expansive town square – cobblestones, storefronts and a great big well in the middle of the square.

Snape closed his eyes tight, concentrated on the town square image in his mind and spun on the spot…total chaos raged all around him. Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Phoenix flying around, spells blasting everywhere, screams of anger and of fright. The ground around Snape was being chewed up by errant spells and hexes, debris erupting up all around him. But there was no sound, as if the town square was located within a space vacuum. Snape stood frozen to the ground, in the center of a wild battle. In the next moment a black shape materialized next to him and pushed him roughly down.

A face was close to his, yelling and pleading. Snape could feel hot breath on his face, spittle flying onto his cheeks. Snape still could not hear a sound, what was wrong? Apparated too quickly? Destroyed my hearing? Then a hand slapped him hard across the face, and Snape’s shock wore off. His ears were immediately assaulted by a cacophony of sounds.

“Get up! Get up!” yelled Lucius Malfoy. “What the hell is wrong with you Severus?! Get your ass up!”

Malfoy grasped Snape up by the collar of his robe and in a whirl of cloaks the two Death Eaters disappeared from the middle of the town square and onto a nearby balcony.

“What is wrong with you?! Where have you been?!” barked Malfoy.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t…I didn’t feel the mark burning,” sputtered Snape. He rose up from his knee, steeling himself against the violence raging down below. Looking Malfoy directly in the eye, he screamed “Let’s get back out there!”

Malfoy was gone in a flash, leave Snape alone on the balcony. From his vantage point he could see and hear all the carnage raging below. The cackling laughs of Bellatrix, always blissful and happy to be in the vicinity of wanton violence. The Carrow siblings locked in a heated duel with Sturgis Podmore and Alastor Moody. The werewolf Lupin and fat stubby Pettigrew lording over Artemis Crabbe and Llewyn Goyle. Snape could not make out the rest of the fighters, they were just whirling streams of white and black.

Snape knew he could not watch the action indefinitely and began to stop struggling against the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He fought down the flight response, tried to channel all his energy and focus into the fight response. He unclenched and released the tension in his body, let his energy flow and readied his mind – flashed back to the injustices of his life, thought about the drunkard of a father he had to endure growing up, reflected on his grandfather’s funeral where no one showed…his long suffering mother… Black and his lackeys making his life a living hell at Hogwarts…always treated as an outcast, even amongst his own housemates…the disgusted, pitying looks others gave him…frustrations against an unfair world…James Potter, who turned his soul mate against him…losing Lily to that perpetual tormentor…Snape’s eyes flashed scarlet. A green Death Eater mask with red flames appeared over his face like a second skin, now a living part of him.

Snape shot a spell towards Lupin, blowing a hole in the ground and knocking the Gryffindor off his feet and into the air. Lupin’s head gave a sickening thud as he hit the ground and didn’t stir. Pettigrew took off in fright after his friend was incapacitated, leaving the injured werewolf all alone. Crabbe and Goyle freed themselves and rushed off into another battle.

Snape leapt from the balcony, firing off spells towards a large lumbering mass that was throwing around Death Eaters like ragdolls. Rubeus Hagrid was raging in a half giant frenzy and Snape’s spells kept bouncing off him, falling harmlessly to the wayside.

“Need some help Walden?” Snape screamed at a fellow Death Eater.

“Shoot ropes at the giant freak’s legs!” came the loud reply.

The two Death Eaters shot length after length of thick black rope at Hagrid’s feet, eventually wrapping him up completely. The giant fell roughly to the ground, rolling around like an angry thick log. The two Death Eaters separated, looking for more opportunities to wreak havoc. Snape searched the battlefield for his next victim when arms materialized out of thin air and wrapped themselves around him. Snape was carried across the square and slammed hard into a stone wall – he rolled to his feet, dazed and bloodied.

A tall man stood before him, looking his exact opposite. Sirius Black looked magnificent amongst the clamor of violence – a strong athletic frame, chiseled features and a vibrant healthy glow about his eyes. A strong breeze whipped his raven black hair around his head and made him appear even more imposing. Was he supremely confident or dangerously arrogant?

Sirius flicked his wand at Snape, whose Death Eater mask dissipated – his pale face flushed red with resentment.

“Why hello there…Snivellus. Expulso!” A red jet burst forth, headed right for Snape’s shocked face.

The red stream bounced harmlessly away as a silver green shield appeared in front of Snape. Sirius and Snape looked around in disbelief and saw, floating to the ground like a dark ghost, Lord Voldemort. Sirius’ confidence melted away and he froze in place – he didn’t fire off any counter spells or attempt to flee.

“Crucio…” quietly hissed the Dark Lord.

Sirius’ wails rang out over the battle as he collapsed in agony. His howls of pain seemed to frighten not just the Order, but also many of the Death Eaters. It was a curious scene – Sirius writhing on the ground, Snape kneeling close by in shock and Lord Voldemort nonchalantly waving his wand.

The sudden appearance of the Dark Lord was terrifying to behold. The intensity of the battle slowed down to a crawl. Some people had fled at his appearance, Death Eaters and members of the Order alike. A few Death Eaters had wandered closer, eager to watch the rare appearance of their Lord in battle. A few were still dueling with the bravest members of the Order, who were trying to push closer to Sirius and save him from impending death.

Snape’s shock at the turn of events turned to pity as Sirius continued to wail, which then slowly gave way to…contentment – Sirius Black squirming in pain, terrible excruciating pain. No punishment was too severe for the coward. In spite of himself, after all he was beginning to learn under Dumbledore’s secret tutelage, Snape couldn’t deny he felt smug satisfaction watching one of his arch enemies twisting and writhing in pure agony. If the Dark Lord had not appeared from the heavens, who knows how badly Sirius’ explosive spell would have hurt me!

Snape had felt the fearsome curse before, having been the target of Lord Voldemort’s wrath on a few occasions. The Cruciatus curse, one of the three Unforgivables. It focused solely on creating physical pain, pain beyond normal human endurance. It set one’s inside on fire – every nerve ending sliced open, raw and exposed – bones breaking – skin flayed – organs crushed. Permanent physical and mental damage was possible if the curse lasted for more than a few minutes.

Sirius finally stopped thrashing about, letting out an anguished whimper of relief. It was unlike the Dark Lord to show any type of mercy, especially to an enemy. Confusion flashed across Lord Voldemort’s face, something was wrong. The Dark Lord flicked his wand in frustration again and again, but Sirius did not react. Instead, he slowly rose to his feet, unsteady and weak. His left arm bent at an unnatural angle, his nose was smashed in and blood begun to seep from under his robe. Lord Voldemort and Snape both took a step back, wary that Sirius has the strength to break the torture curse and rise to his feet. The battered Gryffindor stared definitely at the Dark Lord, a broken scarecrow on splintered legs.

“Hello Tom, it’s been a long time,” said a calm voice from the center of the square. It came from a tall man in dark blue robes, with a long white beard and ocean blue eyes.

Several apparition cracks sounded at once, Death Eaters suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be. Moody hobbled over to Sirius and they disappeared in a whirl of cloaks. A few others scattered away to the shelter of the forest to watch at a safe distance – an errant spell from Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore could spell death for a lesser wizard. Snape began to crawl away, wanting no part of what was about to come. His movement caught the eye of Lord Voldemort who gave his underling a scathing look, causing Snape to stop his cowardly retreat.

“Well now, it seems as though one of your pets has a backbone,” casually remarked Dumbledore. The headmaster walked confidently towards the pair of dark wizards, his magnificently splendid blue robe whistling in his wake. Dumbledore twirled his wand casually, a small smile playing on his lips, but the sharp look in his eyes belied the blasé demeanor.

“Get up Severus, you pathetic rat. I should’ve let the Black boy finish you.”

“Now, now Tom. Like I used to tell you in school, you must learn to play nice.”

Lord Voldemort’s eyes flashed crimson with anger. He shrugged off his cloak and threw back his hood, pure vitriol emanating from his snake like countenance – an awful rictus lined his face as he shot daggers at his former teacher. He then grabbed Snape and pushed the young man between Himself and Dumbledore.

“Too much talking you old fool – it betrays your fear, your panic. I can feel your doubt,” hissed Lord Voldemort. He spun away from behind Snape and whipped his wand towards Dumbledore – “Starliss!”

Snape felt the air whip by his ear, as if a missile had just flown past – a red spell streaked towards Dumbledore, but right before it smacked him in the chest, Dumbledore’s body flickered and the spell flew through him and smashed into the large well sitting in the center of the town square.

Snape was flung aside by an unseen force and a golden net materialized around Lord Voldemort, dragging him to the ground. Suddenly, the net sliced open as though slashed by an unseen knife. Lord Voldemort rose up from the torn net, furious and bleeding from small slashes on his arms and body. Snape had just finished waving his wand at his dark Master – his face shone triumphant then turned horror stricken as he realized his own spell had not only slashed the net, but the Dark Lord as well.

Lord Voldemort swung his wand down like a hammer, droplets of blood flying all around him. An unseen force hit Dumbledore, forcing him down to his knees. His wand dropped from his hand, bouncing harmlessly away. A lump formed in Snape’s throat, watching Dumbledore in such a precarious position. His mind scrambled for a way to intervene without anyone noticing, but he was paralyzed in the presence of the two great wizards.

“Goodbye,” hissed Lord Voldemort. A green light jet out from his wand at alarming speed.

Snape had heard stories of wandless magic, but witnessing the skill firsthand was an amazing sight indeed. Dumbledore held up his cloak like armor and the green jet was absorbed into its folds. The cloak shivered violently as if a great wind was contained within it and then exploded into shreds.

With a scream, Lord Voldemort forcefully stabbed his wand towards Dumbledore, a ball of fire erupted and began rolling towards the Headmaster. Snape sprinted after the fireball, yelling and waving his wand, trying to make a big display of his impending attack. Dumbledore calmly waved a hand towards Snape, who tripped over an unseen obstacle and smashed headfirst into the ground.

Dumbledore then stepped back from the shredded cloak and reached out towards his fallen wand. It shivered slightly and then flew straight into his outstretched hand, he brandished it about his head in wide circles. A swirling column of water soared out of the town well and formed an aquatic wall in front of Dumbledore. The fireball crashed into the aqua wall and hot steam streamed out the other side, leaving Dumbledore unscathed. The aquatic wall then fell away in a great torrent, the water mixing with blood and ash on the ground. Dumbledore fell to one knee, total exertion lining his face.

“Let us end this, once and for all,” barked Lord Voldemort, sensing blood in the water.

“My apologies Tom, but I’ve made travel arrangements.”                                      

A bright streak of fire flashed down from the sky, sending Voldemort stumbling backwards. Fawkes winged towards Dumbledore, blazing fire smoldering in its airy wake. The loyal phoenix flew in circles around his owner, faster and faster. Snape could only just make out Dumbledore behind the swirling red, who gave him a quick wink, and then, with a bang, both headmaster and phoenix vanished – smoky haze the only evidence they had ever been there.

Lord Voldemort, a lion just denied his tasty prey – shock melted into disappointment, which then grew into hot fury. Long gone were the days when Lord Voldemort had to rely on guile and charm to recruit followers. He could now freely unleash his anger and impatience with His followers, display his true colors. Lord Voldemort’s white hot anger settled on the only target left in the broken town square – another disappointing soldier, another useless half-blood mutt.

As Snape lay spasming on the ground – the young Slytherin’s very essence being tortured, his insides torn asunder – Lord Voldemort let his mind wander. He admitted to Himself that the old fool was a truly powerful wizard, dare he even say His equal. Wandless magic like that, He had never seen such wizarding prowess in a duel before.

But He was not scared, He was not afraid. He had pushed the boundaries of magic further than they had ever been pushed before. He had discovered an ancient secret, He had taken steps to ensure his everlasting survival, He had done things no other wizard had ever done before…


	11. The Price of Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle starts down a dark path.

**Chapter 11**

**The Price of Immortality**

Binny Cole poured herself into an old wooden rocking chair, slowly easing down her weary bones. She loved the chair, one of the few things from her childhood that she still had. The chair rested in a cramped room that served as both her office and sleep quarters, but it was all hers. It was shabby, but spotlessly clean with old, mismatched furniture scattered around the room.

Ms. Cole herself was a petite woman, with a perpetually harassed look plastered across her face. Her sharp-featured face tended to appear more anxious than unkind, accentuated with light green eyes and wavy sandy-brown hair. She was stern, but fair – the type of woman would have been completely at ease living in a convent or teaching at a Catholic preparatory school.

At this particular moment she wore a bemused look, as if she couldn't believe the conversation she just had been party to. Her eyes fell to a half-full bottle of gin and two glasses resting on a side table. She held her breath and tilted her head to the side, listening intently. When she was satisfied no one was coming down the hall, she quickly poured herself a healthy measure of the clear alcohol and took a long pull. Everybody had their little vices to help get themselves through the day and this orphanage administrator was no exception.

A man had come calling to enquire about the Riddle boy, a very curious looking man. He had been tall and skinny with long auburn hair and a beard to match. He had worn a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that would only have been suited for, well, she wasn't sure what type of event that would require such a ridiculous outfit. He said he was a teacher at some famous boarding school in the North and the boy had been awarded a place at his institution for the coming year. His name had been on record with school since the day he had been born the man had exclaimed. Ms. Cole would never have admitted it out loud, but she was glad to hear the Riddle boy would be spending time away from the orphanage during the upcoming years.

As the gin soaked into her skin, gently numbing her worries, her thoughts wandered to the strange boy's mother. An ugly little girl with tattered clothes, looked like she'd never had a happy day in her miserable life. She had shown up on the orphanage's steps during a blustery New Year's Eve night, alarmingly pregnant and with nowhere else to go. She had the baby within an hour and passed to the hereafter soon after. The only act she performed before her last breath was to name the young lad, after his father she had said. In addition to the surname, the young child must have also inherited his father looks, for as ugly as his wretched mother was, he was the handsome opposite.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was a strange boy indeed, there was just something…off about him. She knew it was ridiculous, but Ms. Cole found she was a little afraid of the child. The orphanage had very little means and was only able to function due to the generosity of a few philanthropic donors, the bloody government hardly helped out at all. But whenever she had been able to scrap together excess coin, she had spent it on specialists to come by and tend to the children, especially the Riddle boy. None of them ever had a cross word to say about young Tom, but she kept having him examined none the less.

He was…evil. No, no, no, the little boy wasn't evil. What am I thinking? He was just…different, doing what he could to cope with the tough situation life had dealt him. All alone, no family to watch out for him, no one to truly care for him. The orphanage gave rise to countless bullies and there were many situations ripe for abuse – but even the older children gave Tom a wide berth.

Ms. Cole poured herself the last of the gin, the alcohol now making the transition from soothing frayed nerves to drowning them out completely. She could drink with the best of them, but a whole bottle of gin?! And on a Wednesday afternoon?! My God, this is not proper behavior, I must begin to drink less. Oh, where does the time go? Is this the kind of life I imagined for myself when I left the convent?

Ms. Cole began to get lost in sloshed musings of her forgotten dreams and the missed opportunities of her youth. It was a familiar conclusion to her increasingly frequent drinking sessions. She soon became wrapped up in her own fantasies and forgot all about the strange, outrageously dressed teacher she had just met…

* * *

_…"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"_

_"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."_

_"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle._

_"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So — when I've got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?"_

_"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."_

_Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips — they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"_

_"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."_

_His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door._

_"Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."…_

…Dumbledore gently closed the door to the young child's room behind him as he left. As he walked through the halls of the orphanage, Dumbledore admitted to himself that he was surprised at how well developed the boy's magical prowess was for someone so young. What the petite woman had told him, the details the young boy had let slip – these were not simple bursts of uncontrolled magic, his actions were targeted and deliberate. He spoke of controlling, punishing, even frightening the other children – and he was aware enough to not commit the magic in the presence of adults.

But I mustn't be so quick to cast judgment, Dumbledore thought to himself – those living in glass houses should not throw rocks. Dumbledore the man was quite different from Dumbledore the boy the wizard reminded himself. Tom simply had grown up alone in a tough environment and the lad was just protecting himself the only way he knew how – he had no one to show him right from wrong, how to control his power responsibly.

Dumbledore promised himself that he would keep an eye on Tom at Hogwarts. As much for boy's wellbeing, as for the sake of the other students. With the right guidance, the boy had potential to be and do anything he wanted. But as Dumbledore exited the orphanage he couldn't shrug off a strange feeling, as if there was a shiver on his spine that just wouldn't pass. He had to admit, there was something a little ominous about the child. And the fact that the boy was a parselmouth…in all his exotic travels and exploits around the world Dumbledore had never personally met one before.

* * *

Tom Riddle soundlessly exited the darkened classroom and headed down a deserted hallway – the seventh floor of Hogwarts was rarely busy at this time of night. As the teenager padded down the hall, he looked out the passing windows and smiled knowingly to himself. Hogwarts never ceased to amaze him – its rich connection to wizarding history, the wealth of information contained in every room, the amazing magical secrets scattered throughout the castle. One could spend several lifetimes living in the castle and not unlock every hidden treasure.

Tom wondered how many students through the years had also been able to discover the unique room on this floor…probably only a handful, if any, if his they were like his classmates – most of them were complete buffoons. He called it the wishing room – a place capable of transforming into whatever he wanted or needed at any particular moment. He was headed there tonight, a motley collection of old papers clutched under his arm.

One of Tom's most common requests were for the room to turn into a hiding place for him. Over the years Tom had built up quite a collection of dark books and objects, along with other "treasures" that he had taken from others. Students and teachers could be nosy, especially that insufferable Dumbledore. He was too inquisitive, too meddlesome for his own good, that old fool.

Tonight Tom had wanted to hide some books he had bought the previous weekend in Knockturn Alley. The texts focused on the unforgivable curses, a subject forbidden at Hogwarts. How shortsighted of the teachers to not instruct students in such powerful spells!

In the lining of one of the books Tom had uncovered the old papers now clutched in his arms. They appeared to have been written personally by the revered Salazar Slytherin! They looked to be early notes on the brilliant wizard's musings about the future of the wizarding world and the importance of magical blood purity, they even contained sketches of some type of chamber Salazar had intended to construct. Tom knew he would need time to closely study these papers, but for now he needed a safe place to store them. Tom stopped at the end of the hallway, right in front of a large expanse of blank wall. The handsome teenager closed his eyes and began muttering to himself…

* * *

…Tom's heart was racing as he entered the girl's bathroom on the second floor – it was near twilight and not a soul was around. His Slytherin dorm mates had assumed their charismatic friend had snuck off to spend the night with a pretty girl, but Tom had never been truly interested in pursuing any type of meaningful relationship, sexual or otherwise. What had gotten his blood pumping this evening was that he believed he had finally discovered the hidden entrance to the fabled Chamber of Secrets.

Tom stepped into the clean bathroom and first inspected every stall – slowly and carefully, searching every nook and cranny. Nothing. He then quietly muttered something under his breath while flourishing his wand – a breeze gusted about him and he slowly floated up high. He ran his hand over the entire ceiling, speaking all kinds of phrases in parseltongue. Nothing. Damnit – I'm sure it's here!

Tom floated back to the ground and walked over to a sink – splashed himself with cold water, trying to soothe his ever present anger and frustration. Maybe he wasn't the heir to Slytherin. Maybe he wasn't the chosen one. Doomed to a life of mediocrity he thought miserably. Was it because he wasn't pure blood? Damn his pathetic muggle mother! He punched the ceramic sink in frustration, cutting his knuckle as a piece chipped off. He watched the crimson blood drip from the cut, the dark red liquid mixing with the clear tap water, a swirling watery candy-cane rainbow. He then noticed something scratched on the side of one of the sink's copper taps – a tiny snake.

" _Open up_ ," said Tom, in a strange hissing voice.

At once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. The next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Not much in life ever made Tom Riddle happy. He was born angry, grew up angry and lived angry. Angry at his ignominious birth, angry with his absentee parents, angry that others grew up fat and content, while he went wanting. But Tom was human and every once in a while he allowed himself to experience the happy side of the emotion spectrum. As he stared hungrily at the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, Tom was filled with a deep sense of contentedness – he could not remember being more overcome with pure joy in his entire life.

* * *

"Where does he go all the time? I never see him anymore," remarked Rosier.

"Must've found himself a cute cherry," replied Nott.

"We would know if 'Lord Voldemort' was dating someone," said Mulciber.

"Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't have to be a fellow Slytherin…or maybe it isn't a girl," chimed in Dolohov.

The four Slytherins chuckled in their house common room, suspiciously watching one of their own sneak out in the middle of the night.

Tom exited the Slytherin common room and hurried out of the castle. He walked briskly along the school grounds and found his favorite secluded spot by the Great Lake. A cold drift always wafted over the lake at this time of night, the eerie silence sometimes broken by an occasional howl emanating from the Forbidden Forest. The moon shone brightly this night, giving the lake a silvery haunted glow.

Tom liked the open space out afforded to him out here – it helped calm him and allowed him peace to organize his racing thoughts. A few days' time would mark the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had come so far and accomplished so much in his time at Hogwarts, but if he was honest with himself, he had made several mistakes as well.

Tom spread his traveling cloak on the cold ground and laid down upon it, staring up at the night sky. He thought back to his astounding discovery of the Chamber of Secrets, the dark slimy walls that protected the school's greatest treasure. The treasure was not the mighty Basilisk, but that too had been something amazing to behold. It was a fearsome creature – a giant serpent almost fifty feet in length. It was covered in armor plated scales, had teeth like spears and could kill with a single glance. Only Slytherin's true heir could control the monster and he had fearlessly dominated the creature within a few hours.

Any other child – no! any other man – on the planet would have been terrified at the mere mention of the beast's name. But not I, Lord Voldemort – still just a teenager, I controlled it, demanded and gained its respect, and released it upon the school to finish noble Salazar's work. However, I should've been smarter, more controlled and precise. I should've considered the ramifications of releasing the great serpent upon the student body. Realized the havoc that was sure to descend on Hogwarts when it began to kill. Once I found out the school could potentially close forever, my surrogate home, I had to backtrack and reseal the chamber. I had to confine the magnificent creature to its deep prison once more. Such an immature mistake, mustn't get caught up in the moment like that again.

I must admit, even I was surprised at how easy it was to dupe everyone – how simple it was to frame that ugly, filthy giant and his idiotic pet. But I must be more controlled, more measured in the future. Although there was a silver lining – the mighty creature's attack had allowed me to perform a human sacrifice of sorts, allowed me to create something amazing, something to ensure my…survival. And I now have a precious instrument with my memories preserved within. One day it will emerge as a powerful weapon, an instrument another noble wizard can use to finish the work Salazar and I have started.

No, the school's greatest hidden treasure was not the Great Snake of Slytherin or the powerful new notebook that had been created, but rather the personal library of the noble Salazar Slytherin that was built into the Chamber walls. It contained priceless information about the dark arts not recorded within any other text on Earth. How to create disease and famine, how to control others totally and completely, how to read minds and destroy thoughts, how to fly amongst the stars! It had also shown Tom the most previous secret of all, how to cheat Father Time himself!

Once Tom had discovered that treasured secret buried deep within the Chamber of Secrets, he had become a man possessed. He was not yet 18 years old, barely started living life, and he had already become obsessed with the one dream that haunts all old men – achieving life eternal. Nothing else mattered. A diabolical plan had begun to form in his mind, vague at first, but every night his dreams made it clearer and clearer – the golden path to immortality was becoming more illuminated by the day.

He would graduate from Hogwarts, study in secret and grow powerful, disappear and then become reborn as the world's greatest dark wizard – a dark phoenix rising from the shadow ashes. His very name would invoke equal parts fear and reverence. His squalid upbringing would be a distant memory, his future life would be quite the opposite – filled only with mighty triumphs and resounding victories.

He would shape the world in his image, a God who walked among men. He would become renowned within the wizarding world and the muggle world alike. He would start a magical cleansing war, restore purebloods to their rightful place at the head of the table – high above muggles and mudbloods. But half-bloods would have the opportunity to show their mettle, their true worth…his hands balled tightly into tight fists and blood rushed to his face, he had recently confirmed his worst nightmare. Discovered his own embarrassing heritage. How could the true heir of Slytherin be a filthy half-blood? He would rectify that problem this summer – ruthlessly wipe away any trace of his muggle origins in one fell swoop.

I will lead a brave magical world into a new dawn, a new golden age of wizarding. My reign shall last forever, for I now possess the knowledge of a God! Tom knew he would have to make terrible sacrifices, but nothing great in life ever came easy. The precious books in Salazar's library had detailed how painful the process could be, the severe consequences that resulted from maiming one's own soul…but how could pain ever stop him? Any price was worth paying in order to live forever.

The text detailed terrible side effects – loss of empathy, inability to love, disfiguration, tremendous amounts of physical pain. And that came from the creation of one horcrux, which he had already done! What pain?! Who gives a damn about love?! I'm going to push the boundaries of magic further than they've ever been pushed before, I will descend farther down the path of darkness then even the noble Salazar ventured. I shall take the steps to ensure lasting life and make the hard sacrifices required to achieve greatness incarnate. I will live long and prosper…I shall cheat even death itself!

* * *

Tom Riddle – tall, thin and devilishly handsome – radiated the confidence of an older, more accomplished wizard as he strode along a winding lane lined with large hedgerows. Sounds of mirth and laughter would occasionally float to him, families glad to be finished with a long day toiling in the fields and excited to settle down to a hearty dinner.

After some time the lane curved to the left and sloped downward along a hillside, forcing Tom into a trot to maintain his balance. From the sloped lane he had an unobstructed view of a large green valley stretched out below him. He could see a village nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible in the waning daylight. Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn, but Tom's destination was not the town of Little Hangleton. He took leave from the lane and eventually found himself walking along a narrow and crooked dirt track.

After some time he came to an opening amongst a copse of old oak trees and nestled amongst the large tree trunks was an unkempt wooden shack. It appeared as a natural part of the trees, with no discernable human presence or touch. Tom swallowed his disgust at the slovenly hovel and approached the shack on soft feet.

He knocked loudly on the wooden door and then, without waiting for a consenting reply, roughly pushed it open. The inside of the shack was indescribably filthy. Cobwebs littered the ceiling, grime coated the floor and rotted food lay scattered along dirty table tops. There was a bearded man slumped in an armchair in a dark corner, a candle weakly flickering at his cracked feet. There was a small fire roasting across from him, giving off a modicum of warmth in the otherwise cold interior. Tom appraised the disgusting interior with contempt, his…

… _eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at_ _his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor._

_"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"_

_And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft._

_"Stop."_

_Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it._

_"You speak it?"_

_"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him…His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment._

_"Where is Marvolo?" he asked._

_"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"_

_Riddle frowned._

_"Who are you, then?"_

_"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"_

_"Marvolo's son?"_

_"Course I am, then . . ."_

_Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle…Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand._

_"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."_

_"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply._

_"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. . . ."_

_Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly._

_Voldemort was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"_

_"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"_

_Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit. . . . It's over. . . ."_

_He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward…_

…"Stupefy!" screamed Tom. A red jet shot from his wand and hit his uncle square in the chest. Morfin stiffened up and fell to the ground like a rigid board, fury etched across his frozen face. Tom walked across the grimy floor and picked up his uncle's fallen wand.

"Don't worry, I'll be right back," whispered Tom into his uncle's wax filled ear. He then pocketed Morfin's wand, pointed his own down at his uncle's face and muttered "Obliviate."

An hour later Tom stomped his way through the night, headed back to the dirty wooden shack with the moon as his sole traveling companion. The only sounds around him were the small twigs crushed underneath his heavy boots. He needed to visit Morfin one last time and finish covering his tracks – it wouldn't be the first time another would be blamed for a murder Tom had committed.

He had just left the splendid manor house of the Riddle family, having met his father and paternal grandparents for the first and last time. He had dreamed many times about what he would say to his father if he ever found him, replayed the scene hundreds of times in his head. He imagined shouting obscenities at his father, screaming for retribution and demanding answers. He imagined impressing his father with his magical abilities, showing him what powers the son he has forsaken now possessed. He imagined beating the rationale for his abandonment out of his father, punch by punch. But this cold night, when he had finally met his father, he felt…nothing. No anger, no righteous indignation, not even irritation…just a sense of apathy and emptiness.

As his father and grandparents hurled insult after insult at him and demanded he leave their house, Tom Riddle felt…nothing. In the end, he killed them not due to some childish notion of revenge or justice, instead, he killed them so no one in the magical world, the true world, might stumble upon and discover his shameful secret – his half-blood origin and the dirty blood that coursed through his veins.

As he neared the wooden shack, Tom began twisting an ugly gold ring set with a large black stone that was now around on his left middle finger. How many teenage boys in this world could do what he had done tonight? How many full grown wizards or witches?

He had overpowered a wizard and modified his memory, killed three muggles and brilliantly covered up all evidence of the crime! No one could do what I could, no one was capable of my cunning, my genius…I'll gather the boys tonight and celebrate, for tonight had been a good night. Rectifying errors of long past, reclaiming what was rightfully mine…and paving one more step on the golden path.

Tom Riddle was willing, Lord Voldemort was willing…to pay the price of immortality.


	12. All Hallows’ Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy fulfilled.

**Chapter 12**

**All Hallows' Eve**

The Scottish highlands were notorious for their thunderous rainstorms and tonight was no exception. Rain pelted down in a slow and steady pattern – a watery metronome keeping time for the angry heavens. The Walpurgis Castle loomed large like a dark menace, lighting up ominously every time lightening flashed across the wet sky.

The Lair had been abuzz with excitement ever since the great town square battle; the "rumble in the jungle" was all the Daily Prophet had been reporting about. Whispers traveled quickly along the Lair's long dark corridors – Dumbledore had fled in fear, his tail tucked between his legs, had begged the Dark Lord for mercy! He was no match for the Death Eater legion! The Order was scared and had scattered into hiding like cockroaches!

High up in the west tower of the castle was a small room, immaculately clean and spartanly furnished. A metal trunk lay open in one corner, overflowing with worn spell books and potion recipes. There was a solitary chair and table across from the chest, and up against the far end of the room was a small cot. Above the cot, roughly cut into the stone wall, stood a small window – rain drummed rhythmically against blue paned glass. A flash of lightening streaked across the sky, white light piercing the darkness of the room.

Severus Snape turned his bruised head away from the light, pain shooting up and down his right side from that slight turn. Even the smallest movement drove pain spasms throughout his body. He blindly reached down from the cot and found a thick cloth resting in a bowl of ice water. He pressed the wet cool cloth to his sweating forehead, the frigid water numbing his skin and alleviating his discomfort for a precious few seconds.

He had been laying in this small cot, barely eating or moving, for almost a week. Lord Voldemort had been angry Dumbledore had slipped through his grasp, very angry indeed, and had lashed out at the closing person in the vicinity – wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life, Snape thought miserably.

He dropped the cloth back in the bowl, water tinged with blood slopping out of it onto the cold stone floor. His whole body was sore, a tired all-encompassing ache; he suffered mind splitting headaches each night and his back looked as though he had been flogged in a public square for hours. Snape had a renewed respect and a now ingrained fear of the cruciatus curse. There clearly was a reason its use earned wizards a one way ticket to Azkaban.

His hand reached for the chain lying across his chest – pure silver intertwined with ruby strands. Whenever he was in pain or emotional distress he would unconsciously reach for it and think of her, soak up courage from Lily's memories. Even though it had been months, years now, since they had last spoken, since he had last seen her beauty in the flesh, he still gained strength from the memories of their time together. She knew things about him that no one else knew, things he had kept hidden from Dumbledore, from even the Dark Lord himself. She had been loyal, kept his shameful secret hidden even after he had insulted and embarrassed her. She had cared for him selflessly so many times as they grew up together. Snape had never been able to comprehend what she gained from their friendship – he asked her, on countless occasions, why are you my friend? She would just laugh and go back to whatever she had been talking about.

"Ahhhhh!" Snape dropped the chain from his hand, as it had suddenly glowed fire red and burned white hot. What the hell was that? When Dumbledore summoned him the necklace became ice cold against his chest and his touch brought a vision to his mind.

Snape unhooked the claspes and held the chain up. He glanced impatiently at the window, waiting for a lightening flash to spike across the sky. After a few moments lightening streaked by and illuminated the room. What? It didn't make any sense. Where had the ruby strands disappeared to? Snape shook his head, willing the pain to abate so he could think clearly.

Snape reached to his side, grabbed his wand and whispered, "Lumos".

The tip of the wand shone brightly, confirming what he had seen moments before. The chain was now pure silver, no trace of the red jewels. That idiot Dumbledore had ruined his most precious gift! Lily's ruby strands were gone. Maybe it wasn't Dumbledore. Maybe she finally had gotten wise, maybe her love and care for him had completely vanished…maybe she had finally forgotten all about him.

The thought sliced through Snape's beating heart like a burning blade. The physical pain he had been battling faded away, nothing compared to the heart wrenching pain he now felt in the pit of his gut. Had she really forgotten him completely?

Snape felt like he was losing her all over again – begging to see her, being rebuffed, seeing the hurt in her face, green eye's filled with disappointed tears. Snape pushed his face into his pillow, the tears flowing freely. They felt hot and sticky as they sluiced down his face. Time passed slowly as he wept in his cramped room, the thunder drowning out his sobs.

A gentle knock sounded at the door roused him back to present. How long had it been? Snape ignored it, he still couldn't stem the tide of tears and didn't want anyone to see his pain. He wanted to be alone. Forever. He was never leaving this room. Ever.

The knocking persisted, increasing in urgency.

"Go away, I want to be left alone!"

"Severus! Get up! Something's happened!" came a panicked voice. It sounded like Karkaroff. "Open up now!"

"I'm not feeling well, leave me be you fool!"

"Alohomora!"

Snape heard the deadbolt magically slide across the lock. The door was quickly pushed in and a nervous Death Eater entered. Snape pressed a pillow over his face, still quietly weeping.

"Severus! You've been summoned. Quickly now, let us be off."

"Tell the Dark Lord I'm still too injured from my last meeting with him. I can barely move!"

Karkaroff ripped the pillow off Snape's face and stared into the angry wet face.

"Severus, something terrible has happened. The Dark Lord…he…he's missing!"

Snape rolled to his side, ignoring the stabbing pains screaming from his body. He quickly wiped away the last vestiges of Lily's tears, forgetting his self-pity for the moment.

"The fact that the Dark Lord does not tell you his every move is hardly news."

"We've gotten reports that something…"

"Damnit Igor, speak plainly! Or get the hell out of my room!"

"Bellatrix and Lucius came to the castle several hours ago, very excited and pleased with themselves. They demanded an immediate audience with the Dark Lord and soon after He left the castle. He was eager, excited even."

"Where did He go?! Stop speaking in circles!"

Karkaroff took a deep breath. "People said He had found the child. The young boy, the one the prophecy spoke of."

Snape felt all the air rush out of his lungs. He never heard Karkaroff's next words, his mind was spinning and he could not focus. Lily?! Oh dear God. Snape edged to the side of the cot and tried to stand, but immediately fell down to a knee.

"Severus! Are you alright?" Karkaroff leaned down to help Snape to his feet.

"I think…I think I need to lie down for just one moment."

"No you must come with me. This instant."

"I'm in no condition to see Him. I don't care how angry He is!" Snape began to think of a way to escape the lair – I must speak to Dumbledore at once!

"Severus, He's not summoning you! Bellatrix is!"

"Bellatrix?! She does not command me! Leave Igor! Now! I need time to think!"

"You don't understand Severus!" Karkaroff grabbed his Snape by the collar, wild terror floating in his dark eyes.

Snape saw panic and absolute fear staring back at him, the stench of desperation dripped from Karkaroff.

"The Dark Lord has fallen!"

* * *

Snape stumbled through the bustling halls of the dark castle, people scurrying all around him. The air was not full of excited energy as it had been the last few days, rather, there was panic in everyone's step. No one seemed to know what was going on or what to do next.

Snape fought down the acidic bile rising in his throat and kept pushing his way forward through his panicked brethren – finally spying his target. As a beautiful young Acolyte quickly strode by him, he balled his left hand into a fist and swung it as hard as he could into her stomach. As her breath left her and she keeled over in pain, Snape grabbed her by the arm and swung her into an empty room, slamming the door shut.

She was thrown to the ground, sliding to a stop against a stone wall. As she struggled to regain her wits, she gave Snape a mutinous glare, venom in her look.

"What's the meaning of this? How dare you attack me? Severus the snake!"

"Is that how an Acolyte speaks to a Death Eater these days? The rules no longer apply because the Dark Lord is gone?"

Snape advanced on her menacingly and she shrunk back in fear, her indignation started to give way to alarm. But he coughed up a bit of blood and stumbled, falling to a knee. Adrenaline flowed through him, but he was in no condition to be up and about, much less hold an intensive interrogation. The Acolyte scrambled to her feet, confidence slowly returning to her countenance.

"Pathetic man. Step aside and maybe I won't report this despicable attack."

"Annabelle shut your mouth, I've no time for your insolence."

"If you don't step aside, I'll tell Lucius – I swear to God I will. He'll be furious!"

"Yes, I think you're quite right."

Snape dropped to the ground from his bended knee, lying prone on the ground – the pain had become unbearable. Annabelle stepped over him and strode towards the door.

"That's what I thought snake. I'm not for the likes of you."

"With you."

"What?"

"Lucius will be furious…with you. I also wonder how mad Narcissa will be?"

"Narcissa?"

"I'll make sure she's nearby when I complain to Lucius that his play toy refused to help me, that his arrogant mistress has become too big for her britches."

Snape could barely see clearly, his head was spinning like a top. Blood began to seep again from the slashes on his back, dark magic never healed properly. He gently rolled to his side to ease the pressure on his back, scrunching his eyes. "I just hope for your sake she doesn't go crying to her sister. Bellatrix can be rather…unforgiving to those who have wronged her family."

Snape waited a few moments, and then a thankful sigh escaped his lips – the door never opened and closed.

"What is it that you want from me?"

Snape was breathing heavily, but didn't reply.

"I know how you look at me Severus. But I won't touch you, ever. Rumor is women aren't your cup of tea anyway."

"Keep quiet for once in your life you ignorant fool. Close that goddamned mouth of yours and listen to me. I must know where it was the Dark Lord went tonight. I must know this instant, time is of the essence."

"I've no idea! You think I'm part of his inner circle?! He's never so much as glanced in my direction. Lucius has told me many times that the Dark Lord has no interest in…earthly pleasures."

"Lucius tells you much – in my opinion, far too much." Snape leaned on his elbow and looked directly at Annabelle. Porcelain skin, strong cheekbones, beautiful long blonde hair. Even in his panic and broken down state, Snape could feel a stirring within him, the woman was gorgeous – Lucius certainly had a type. To be honest, she was every man's type. And Snape knew Lucius told this enchanting creature all manner of dark secrets to impress her. "Tell me where the Dark Lord went tonight Annabelle."

"I do not KNOW!"

Snape struggled to his feet.

"Tell me now or I swear to God I will make it my life's mission to ruin your life. I will haunt your every step, never give you a moment's peace. I have nothing and no one, you can't hurt me the way I can hurt you. Look at me, look into my eyes you bitch! Tell me I'm lying, tell me! I promise you, I'll make your life a living hell from this moment forth."

"He told me not to tell a soul! The Dark Lord will kill us both if I spoke out of turn. Lucius hasn't even told his own wife."

"Do you really believe I give enough of a damn about you to mention your name to anyone? I just need to know where He went tonight…please Annabelle, it's of paramount importance. Do you truly care for our cause? If you tell me right this instant, I just might be able to help the Dark Lord."

Annabelle started hard at the skinny Death Eater. He looked so frail right now – a strong gust could tip him right over. She imagined she might even be able to kill him in this weakened state. Snape let out a raspy cough, mucus and blood splattered on the cold stone floor. Lucius would be furious with her. She should give him a fake location? No, she had heard stories about this young Death Eater, from Lucius himself. Motivated, intelligent, not to be trusted. He truly could make her life miserable.

"I don't know the name, I've never been there."

"Where?"

"The birthplace of Godric Gryffindor."

* * *

Snape hurried along a dark road, his traveling cloak wrapped tightly around his wiry frame. He had raided the potion storeroom of the Lair for some gilded root and then had used one of the Lair's many portkeys to travel to the town of Hampton. Hampton was only a few miles south of Godric's Hollow, but Snape had to walk it – he could not risk apparating in his weakened state. Thank God the portkey had been set for Hampton, any farther away and he never could have reached the Hollow.

Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out the gilded root. It was the prized root of the rare Gilly Flower, a leafy plant found in the mountains of Northern India. Sucking on the root tasted something awful, but it would help dull the pain still reverberating throughout his body. Of course Snape knew how to brew much more effective healing draughts, but could not spare the precious hours it would have taken to brew.

Snape kept to a darkened field that ran alongside the long road to Godric's Hollow. He was in no shape to fight off anyone who may be curious as to why a solitary man was walking alone in the dead of night. He could see, far off in the distance, dark smoke swirling to the heavens. A large fire must be roaring, smoldering something into ruin – Snape quickened his pace. How had the Dark Lord been able to penetrate the Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm? What had Bellatrix and Lucius told Him? What had happened tonight?

* * *

I can't remember feeling this excited, my nerves are tingling with anticipation for I'd forgotten the pleasure of an unexpected present. Finally, after all my hard work and planning, finally! I'm going to achieve it what was rightfully min – true invincibility! I will soon be unstoppable, nothing and no one will ever again stand in my way. After tonight the wizarding world, the muggle world, the entire world, shall tremble at my feet. I knew I was born for something greater, I knew I was destined to change the course of history, I knew it…

_. . . And along a new and darker street he moved, and now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet. . . . And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it. . . .They had not drawn the curtains; he saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist. . . . A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning. . . . The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear._

_His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand. . . ."Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! . . . He laughed before casting the curse. . . . "Avada Kedavra!"_

_The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut. . . . He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear. . . . He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in. . . . She had no wand upon her either. . . . How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments. . . . He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand . . . and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead. . . . "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

_"Stand aside, you silly girl . . . stand aside, now."_

_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"_

_"This is my last warning —"_

_"Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy. . . . Not Harry!_

_Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything —"_

_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all. . . . The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing — He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage —_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_And then he broke: He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away . . .far away. . ._

* * *

Once again, Dumbledore felt the need to give a silent thank you to the founders of Hogwarts for having the skill and foresight to provide him the opportunity to converse with the previous headmasters and headmistresses of the school – the self-portraits were capable of interacting with the living world and were painted during the life of the subject. The headmaster or headmistress would then teach their portrait to act and behave like themselves, and imbue them with new memories if need be. Combined, there was over one thousand years' worth of magical life experience contained within the current headmaster's office.

"Good point Everard, but no need to worry – I've taken precautions with regards to the Potter family," said Dumbledore to the portrait of a long white bearded man. "Now tell me again, how could a wizard split his soul?"

"Dumbledore your fascination with this dark spell has gone on long enough," answered the portrait of a plump wizard in luscious plum colored robes.

"Yes headmaster, you're becoming obsessed with this topic. No one that young would have known such dark magic. It's the Potter boy and the child's well-being you focus on," chimed in the self-portrait of a raven haired, regal looking witch.

"Dilys please, I've done all I can for the Potters – the Fidelius Charm was cast over a week ago. I strongly pushed to be Secret Keeper, but they declined. James decided to put his trust in his best friend, who I'm quite certain would die before giving up their location," said Dumbledore as he walked over to Fawkes. "They're perfectly safe."

The loyal phoenix was sitting on a redwood perch, chewing quietly on a herring bone. He was a magnificent and powerful magical creature – strong golden feathers lined his wings, with dark crimson plumage covering the rest of his body.

"Besides, Fawkes will alert us immediately if the family is in any danger," Dumbledore said as he stroked the bird's neck. It relaxing shiver ran across its body and it crooned softly in response. Dumbledore turned back to the portraits. "Now then, we all heard what that house-elf had to say."

"Albus, it was just a confused house-elf," said Everard. "The poor creature wasn't in its right mind!"

"We don't really know its genuine motivations, the whole performance could've been a red herring – a dangerous trick to draw you out!" agreed Dilys.

Dumbledore turned to address the picture of skinny, dark haired man dressed in splendid green robes, the crest of a snake across his breast.

"Phineas? Oh come off it Phineas, we all know you're awake. What do you think? Could the Dark Lord have discovered this ancient dark magic?"

Phineas Nigellus Black slowly opened his eyes, preparing to fire off a smug remark before giving his actual opinion. Instead his eyes went wide in alarm and he pointed to something in the corner of the office. Dumbledore whipped around, an alarmed look slowly spreading across his face.

"Oh dear God," he said quietly.

Fawkes was still sitting quietly on his redwood perch, but the magnificent creature was no longer enjoying his after dinner snack. The bird was quietly crying, large pearl shaped tears slipping down its beak and splashing to the ground. And the phoenix's body was no longer covered in splendid gold and red feathers – Fawkes had turned a vivid pulsing blue.

* * *

Snape quietly made his way through Godric's Hollow, slipping by unseen in the nighttime shadows. A few brave souls had come out of their homes to take a look at a destroyed, still flaming house, but most had stayed ensconced within the safety of their homes – in these dangerous times, too much curiosity could get one killed. A small trail of blood marked Snape's passage through the town, the walk here had taken all the energy he had left. Finally the Potter house came into sight – a smoldering ruin. Part of the roof had been blown apart, leaving a gaping hole – dark grey smoke lazily wafted up from the wreckage, making its way up the heavens.

The house looked as though a tornado had touched down upon it, devastating its innards and ripping apart its guts. Snape's heart caught in his throat, sticky vomit threatened to make an appearance. His breathing became fast and haggard – no one could have survived such an explosion. But there was no Dark Mark floating ominously above the house! Maybe she had survived…

Snape stepped out from a large hedge and into an empty street. He took a deep breath and he steeled himself, preparing to dash across the lane and inspect the wreckage of the Potter's destroyed home, when a low rumbling froze him in his tracks. The sound came from the sky, getting closer by the second. As the rumbling swelled to a loud roar, Snape looked up and saw a huge motor cycle falling down from the sky. Snape shook off his shock and quickly melted back into the shadows.

The motor cycle careened dangerously towards the ground, showing no signs of slowing. Just as it appeared as though a huge crash was inevitable, the bike impossibly came to an abrupt halt, gently touching down on the street. Snape's mouth went agape with shock, as see Sirius Black stepped off the motorcycle with a maniacal look, his long black hair flowing angrily behind him. Sirius looked around and settled his gaze on the hedge Snape was peering out from. Oh God, if Sirius finds me in this weakened state I'm a dead man. Snape slunk further down into the shadows, willing Sirius to look away.

A large sound echoed out from the house, drawing both Sirius' and Snape's attention. A large bear of a man lumbered out of the ruined house, something small cradled in his hairy arms. Sirius quickly moved away from the bike and approached the half giant. Snape watched the curious pair from afar, desperately wanting to hear the conversation. Should I move closer, risk capture?

* * *

Rubeus Hagrid was holding a small child in the crook of his large left arm, while his right hand was slowly turning into a balled fist. Dumbledore's orders had been explicit – remove the child from the home immediately, take him to a safe place and await further summons. Do not stop for anything. Do not let the child out of your sight for even a moment. And beware of anyone you cross, especially anyone who claims to be a friend of the Potters. Someone very close to the family had betrayed them and no one except Dumbledore could be trusted tonight.

"Step aside Sirius. I've got ter be movin' along, you see. No delays."

"Hagrid?! Oh thank the heavens, little Harry survived! What about James? Lily?"

Hagrid shook his head as if in great agony, pained tears threatening to wrack his body. "The child was the only one movin' inside."

Sirius started towards the ruined house, "This is all my fault, all my fault…"

Hagrid started to edge away from the despondent man, his right hand ready to strike just in case.

"How did the baby survive Hagrid?"

"I've no idea…I'll be seein' ya Sirius."

"What?! Where are you taking him? I've got a right to know Hagrid! I'm the only family Harry has left!"

Hagrid's eyes flicked towards the wand sticking out of Sirius' belt. He unclenched his fist and slowly moved it behind him, fingering the handle of an umbrella strapped to his back. The umbrella secretly contained pieces of his original wand – a wand that had been broken by the Ministry of Magic when Hagrid had been expelled from Hogwarts as a student. The umbrella wasn't as powerful an instrument as the original wand had been, but Hagrid was still able to create rudimentary magic through it.

"I ain't supposed ta tell a soul. Dumbledore's orders, ya hear?"

"I'm that child's godfather, the only family he has now." Sirius' wand appeared in his hand so fast Hagrid had no time to react. Sirius pointed the wand threateningly towards the Hagrid, who quickly turned his body to shield little Harry.

"Yer magic won't do nutin to me Sirius, bounce off me like little raindrops, although ya might hurt the boy. But you wouldn't care about him none, would ya? Ya thieving scoundrel!"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? I'm all Harry has left!"

"I overheard Dumbledore tonight – you was their Keeper!" roared Hagrid as he pulled out his umbrella and aimed it at Sirius. "Get outta my way or I'll mow ya down right where ya stand!"

Hagrid's body tensed for a fight, but an attack spell never came. Instead, Sirius lowered his wand and stuck it back in his belt. He turned away from Hagrid and looked longingly back at the house. Only three other people in the whole world truly knew who the real Secret Keeper to the Potters had been – two lay dead in the smoking home in front of him and the third had probably been killed too. I must check on Peter at once! Oh God, why did I go and change the plan at the last second? What a fool I've been."

Sirius couldn't bear to look at the house anymore and turned to Hagrid, who had hate and mistrust written all over his bearded face. No one will ever believe me. I'll forever be known as a coward and traitor, even amongst my dearest friends. But I swear to you, James and Lily, here and now, I swear that before I give my last breath, I will avenge what happened here tonight. I swear it.

"You're right Hagrid, I betrayed James and Lily, failed them thoroughly. Go now – take Harry and watch over him. He's safer under Dumbledore's protection than anyone else's."

Hagrid stood rooted to the spot, confused by the about face in attitude. Was this some sort of trick? He glanced around warily, expecting the worst.

"Go now Hagrid, you fool! Soon this place will be crawling with people!"

Hagrid cautiously backed away from Sirius, still not fully trusting the wizard.

"And Hagrid, take my bike. It's powerful and fast, large enough to carry you comfortably. I won't be needing it anymore."

With a whirl of his cloak and a familiar Crack! Sirius was gone.

Hagrid rushed over to the still idling motorcycle, wasting no time. He gunned the throttle, the engine roared in excitement and in an instant the giant and baby were gone.

* * *

Snape stood still, immersed and ensconced in dark shadows – he hadn't ventured out from his hiding spot during the heated discussion across the street. He had not been able to hear what had been said, but from afar it had been a strange sight indeed – it had seemed like the two Order members were one the verge of dueling. Loyalties were already being fractured among Dumbledore's stooges.

Well, it was now or never. Snape pushed through the hedge and quickly crossed the street. Past the creaking gate, through the front door and into the sitting room.

There was James Potter's lifeless body, a rag doll lying by the steps to the second floor. Snape approached gingerly, carefully stepping over the man who had helped make his teenage years a living hell. Snape was surprised to find he felt nothing as he passed the body. No hate, no satisfaction, no sympathy. James Potter invoked much less feeling to Snape in death than he did in life.

Snape's insides churned violently as he climbed the stairs, a violent tempest raging deep within him. He felt the anxious, nauseating feeling one experiences when they know they are going to hear bad news. He stepped onto the second floor landing, his eyes glued to the ground, afraid of what he might see if he raised them.

Snape took a long deep breath, braced himself and forced his eyes to peer down the hallway.

Through the watery haze of tears, through a violently spinning corridor – he saw her. His beautiful Lily flower lay on the floor, cold and wilted. The beautiful ruby red hair fanned out around her head, like a rosy halo. The edges of his vision began to close in and threatened to consume him completely, but he pushed forward down the burnt hallway. He made it through and stepped into the destroyed bedroom. Half the wall and ceiling were blown apart, a cold wind whistling unchallenged though the room. Lily on her back, all alone – a sleeping beauty.

Snape wanted to touch her soft skin, hold her like he had when they were kids, kiss her like he had in his dreams, stroke her hair one final time. There are some people you meet in life that matter more than the rest, touch you deeper than even your own family, measure higher and more important than anything else. Snape looked down at his broken dreams, knowing that now he could never ever rectify the mistakes of his past.

But he couldn't bring himself to touch her. It felt like a violation, defilement, an unwelcomed intrusion on a private sleep. He settled for slinking away into a dark corner of the room, slumping to the ground to keep a watchful guard over her. After a few minutes – or was it an eternity? – Snape crawled over to Lily's lifeless body. Hot sticky tears slide down his crooked nose and fell all around her. They were filled with sadness, shame and deep regret. True penance.

"I'm so sorry Lily. I never met for this, for any of this. I was lost and alone – I wanted to be welcomed and accepted by someone, I didn't care who it was, I just wanted to be part of something bigger than me and my pathetic life."

Snape held her pale hand – it had gone ice cold, just like the necklace around his neck. This is how he had repaid his best friend in the whole world? This is was Lily's reward for loving him and looking after him when they were younger? Sow and so shall you reap. Severus Snape had lived a wicked life, turned down a dark road in misguided anger and his only true fried had paid the ultimate price.

Snape released Lily's hand and lay down beside her – a grotesque reimagining of his wildest desire. He had dreamt of lying next to his Lily in a bedroom, hear her gently breathing next to him, all his. Now he settled for lying on a scorched floor next to a lifeless body. Snape knew it was time to go, he had gotten to see her one last time, it was time to take his leave…he could mourn her later from a safe place – mourn her for the rest of my pathetic, worthless, miserable life…

…hurried footsteps sounded from below – the aurors had come, charging up the stairs. He took one last look at the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally and spun on the spot. Crack!

Snape landed with a resounding thud in his dirty back yard in Spinner's End. His body broken by punishment from the Dark Lord, his mind numb from months of double dealings, his soul destroyed by the loss of his one and only love. There was no pretending to himself anymore, he had tried to bury his feelings and pretend he had never cared – the truth was he had never moved on from that first day he spied her on that playground. It had been love at first sight. It wasn't Lily's looks that had drawn him to her like a black moth to a bright red flame, although she truly had been beautiful. It was her warm and caring soul that had captured his heart.

And I had caused her death! Oh God what have I done? The Dark Lord had promised to spare her…what a fool I am? How could I have believed that twisted megalomaniac?! Even the great Dumbledore had failed me completely. I never could count on anyone, but myself.

No matter how desperately he wanted to switch places with her, Snape could not offer his life to save Lily's. But I can do the next best thing. I will show the world how truly sorry I am. My father was right all along, I'm a quitter. Snape decided to take the coward's way out.

He brandished his wand at a discarded rake lying in the yard. The common garden tool transfigured into a long thick black rope and slithered its way up a large tree trunk and around a sturdy limb hanging above Snape. The rope snaked itself tight around the limb until only a small swinging piece remained, swaying gently just above over his head. Snape made a tight nose from the end of the rope, stood on his toes and slipped it over his head. The noose felt good around neck, signified blessed relief to his wrecked body and tortured soul.

He raised his wand for the last time, pointing it at the rope circled around the tree trunk. With the final iota of energy he had left, Snape flicked his wrist. The rope slowly began constricting in on itself, a python wrapping itself around a tasty meal.

The noose tightened around his neck, cutting into his skin, and began slowly lifting him higher and higher, inch by inch. Snape toes soon left the ground, his hands resolutely staying at his sides. His wand slipped through his fingers as he felt the breath slowly depart his body. His arms and hands never moved, he never struggled to shake loose from the rope – why fight? I deserve to die.

Snape final thoughts flickered between stolen moments he had spent with Lily as a child and terrifying visions of what awaited wicked men like him in the afterlife. His toes now a foot off the ground, the noose so tight around his neck it felt like part of his skin.

His lungs burned for oxygen, numbness tingling throughout his body. Snape had nothing left in him to even struggle against the rope, he welcomed hell. His body started convulsing violently as his body demanded he fight for oxygen.

Just as Snape the dark edges of his cloudy vision closed in on him, he thought he saw a figure appear before him. Lily? Dumbledore? The Dark Lord?

No, it was the Devil, who had come up to Earth to personally welcome another tormented soul down to his dark providence…


	13. A Friend Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wormtail was a survivor.

**Chapter 13**

**A Friend Indeed**

Wormtail scampered up the stairs of the devastated house, with a complete lack of remorse for the ruin his duplicity had wrought. As he reached the second floor landing, he thought he saw a whirl of a cloak and the crack of apparition – I must be seeing things, only dead bodies remained within this broken shell of a house. Wormtail knew he had to be quick, the damn aurors could arrive at any moment.

What could I really have done when the Dark Lord cornered me all those months ago? Fight the most powerful dark wizard of all time? Suffer unnecessary pain and death? Torture? And for what? The Order was fighting a losing battle and it was time for everyone to open their eyes. Would it be such a horrible outcome for Lord Voldemort to take over? Purebloods would reign supreme at the top of the food chain and muggles would be the ones relegated to the shadows, the fringes of society. The Order's end was coming as surely as the sun would rise in the morning – no point staying on a sinking ship if someone was going to toss me a life jacket.

Wormtail tried his best to ignore the red headed women lying on the floor as he began to leave small traces of evidence all around the room – when he was finished, no one would be able to deny that Sirius Black had been present in the bedroom. Just as he was leaving, Wormtail sucked in a shocked gasp. Lying there, right next to a burnt crib, was a wand – thirteen and one half inches long, made of yew with a phoenix feather core. Wormtail recognized it at once, for he had seen it in action up close and in person. It had been an instrument of coercion, torture and even murder. He scooped it up at once, and took his leave from the haunted house.

Wormtail was a survivor.

* * *

Severus Snape hurried along the school corridor, trying to not make a sound. He was late for his secret meeting, but this was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. Normally catching one of the gang of four all alone in a hallway would set off alarm bells in Severus' mind. The young Slytherin hated to admit it, but the Marauders were a wily bunch and were smart enough to not prowl the castle alone. But the two pretty boys had detention with Slughorn and the quiet gangly one was ill again. Something was off about him and Severus made a mental note to further investigate Remus Lupin and his continued absences. But for now, Snape's attention was focused on the short, rotund Gryffindor up ahead of him who was happily bouncing along, lost in some silly daydream no doubt.

Severus figured this would be a great chance to practice his improved nonverbal casting abilities – he had been dutifully practicing each night as the constant harassment from the Gryffindors had continued unabated this school year. As Peter Pettigrew passed an empty classroom, Severus raised his wand in nervous excitement. He flicked it sharply three times, concentrating silently in his mind – "Muffliato!" – "Stupefy!" – "Levicorpus!"

The chubby Gryffindor froze in mid step with a quick cry of alarm, jerked up into the air as if an invisible hook had grabbed him and floated off into an empty classroom. If anyone had been around the corner they wouldn't have heard the startled cry, as their ears would've been filled with a light buzzing sound. Severus quickly closed the door to the classroom, waved his wand and happily headed off. Anyone passing by the classroom on the fourth floor would probably not have gone in. A sign had just appeared over the door – "Do Not Enter: Charms Test in Progress".

* * *

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Lily asked to the approaching Severus.

"Sometimes the gods smile upon you my lady," replied the gangly teen. He had pale skin, greasy hair and a crooked nose. In stark contrast to the pretty red head who was sat on a low stone wall, near the school gamekeeper's hut.

It was a beautiful sunny day and it seemed as though the sun was shining directly on Lily, Severus' own private angel.

"You keep getting stranger and stranger Sev," Lily said playfully. She pointed to the open textbook resting next to her, "I'm having trouble with the recipe for Amortentia."

"And why, may I ask, would you need to know how to make the world's strongest love potion?"

"Extra credit for Slughorn, obviously I don't need to use it!" Lily flicked her hair in mock arrogance and smiled at Severus.

No you definitely don't need any potion to cast a spell on others thought Severus as he smiled back at her. He had always had a knack for brewing and Slughorn had finally come around to appreciating Severus' natural abilities, but the truth was he worked diligently at potions to get top marks. And one of the main reasons he strived to excel at the subject was for moments like these – Severus was fiercely protective of maintaining his private meetings with Lily and helping her with homework was a great excuse for them to meet.

Severus always had a nagging worry in the back of his mind that as soon as Lily felt she didn't need him, she would move on to someone better. Severus sometimes believed that they had grown close as children, not because they were natural friends, but because Severus had been able to introduce her to magic and was the only one she could talk to about it. He had been her personal tour guide, introducing her to a wonderful new world. Severus had been pleasantly surprised she had remained his friend since they began at Hogwarts, for she was a quick study and had already begun to teach him magical things he had never known about.

"Hello, Earth to Sev. What's the best way to crush a dragon berry? The recipe says you need to add the berry juice within seconds of releasing it from the pod, before the main potion turns blue, but I can never extract it fast enough."

"Sorry, I was…"

"You're always day dreaming these days. What's going on with you? Is there something you want to tell me?" Lily squared Severus' shoulders around, so they were looking eye to eye. Severus could see the moisture on her red lips, the little imperfections on her skin. Wow, her dark green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight. Should I just go for it? Maybe she would like it?

"Sev…do you have a crush on someone?"

"Wha-what? Why would you ask?" Oh my God, I'm such an idiot. I'd been so obvious, staring at her like a lovesick puppy. She was so smart, of course she had figured it out.

"You never seem present anymore…so, who is she?"

"You don't know?"

"Oh God, I hope it's not Laura McKinney. She's just awful!"

The nervous ball in Severus' stomach began to unfurl – she didn't know who his crush was. Friendship saved, awkward conversation avoided. Still, Severus kind of wished Lilly had realized how he felt about her.

"I wasn't dreaming of anyone. I was just thinking of how sweet this moment is."

"Aww, Sev. That's such a nice thing to say."

"Yep – an arrogant Gryffindor begging a kind Slytherin for help. Just the way it should be!" Severus gave Lily a little shove and hopped up on the wall, brandishing his wand.

"You rascal!" Lily waved her wand at him as she dropped to the ground – a stream of warm water flew towards Severus.

As he tried to dodge the water, Severus stumbled on the wall and lost his footing. He swayed, staggered for a few steps, and then began to pitch over the wall. Time slowed down as he fell, the ground seemed to stretch away from him. Farther and farther he dropped, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the ground rushed up to meet him and he closed his eyes, bracing for impact…

* * *

…Snape slammed into the wet ground, the grass was slick with rain and mud. He twisted his mouth away from the mud and gasped for air, greedily sucking it in. His body ached, he felt like as though he had been hit by a cement truck. Snape wiped the soggy muck from his eyes and looked up at the shadow towering above him.

Albus Dumbledore wore a disgusted look of contempt his face. This was not a sunny afternoon at Hogwarts, his beautiful friend was nowhere to be found. This was certainly not Heaven, for such intense pain surely did not exist there. Snape looked around and realized he was in his miserable dingy backyard. He would rather have been in Hell, anywhere but here, having to live with what he had done.

Snape looked back towards Dumbledore's boots for he could not bring himself to look up and meet the disappointed gaze boring down on him. He dropped his head, his face smacking back into the wet mud with loud squelch. He could still feel the noose around his neck, desperately yearning for it to magically come alive and finish its job.

* * *

A roaring fire blazed in Dumbledore's office, radiating blessed warmth _…something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal._

_Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop._

_"I thought . . . you were going . . . to keep her . . . safe. . . ."_

_"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"_

_Snape's breathing was shallow._

_"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore._

_With a tiny jerk of the head, Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly._

_"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"_

_"DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone . . . dead . . ."_

_"Is this remorse, Severus?"_

_"I wish . . . I wish I were dead. . . ."_

_"And what use would that be to anyone?" said Dumbledore coldly. "If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."_

_Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore's words appeared to take a long time to reach him._

_"What — what do you mean?"_

_"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."_

_"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone —"_

_"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."_

_There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never — never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear . . . especially Potter's son . . . I want your word!"_

_"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?"_

_Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist . . ._ then yes, I shall keep your secret. Always. But in return I want your word."

"For what?"

"Never again will you choose the coward's way out. Ever."

Dumbledore braced himself for a long argument, but Snape never uttered a dissident syllable. Rather, he gave Dumbledore a curt nod.

"Very well then. Now, on to other matters."

"Wait – what happens to the boy? To Lily's son?"

"I'm taking care of that as we speak."

"And how was a child…able to defeat the greatest dark wizard in history?"

"All in due time, Severus, all your questions will be answered in due time. But right now I've a pressing assignment for you."

Snape glanced to his left and caught his reflection in a glass cabinet. His robes were torn and tattered, hair matted with grime and dried blood, plum colored bruises lining his sunken cheeks.

"I'm in no shape to be your errand boy tonight."

"Yes, you've certainly looked better, but time is of the essence tonight. Now listen closely…" countered Dumbledore, quickly waving away Snape's concerns. Fawkes swooped off his perch and settled on Snape's shoulder. Thick, pearly tears began to slide out of the phoenix's eyes and down its beak, plopping down on Snape's face. It felt like a warm towel was gently washing him, lifting the veneer of pain that Snape had been feeling for well over a week. A tear fell onto his cracked lips and into his mouth, sliding down his throat and warming him deep down in his belly, heating his core. It tasted, not salty, but sweet, like honey water. As the pain abated, Snape could finally focus on Dumbledore's words.

"…I don't know when, I'm not quite sure how, but the Dark Lord will rise again. We must prepare for that day."

"Not even a moment's peace to mourn quietly? What is that you want from me?"

"I'm sure you realize that now the Lord Voldemort has fallen, you and your brethren will be ruthlessly hunted down. Azkaban or death is what the Ministry has been spouting to its Aurors, like a battle cry."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a fact. Do I have your undivided attention now? Or do you need a few more moments of self-pity?"

Snape sat in mutinous silence, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Dumbledore had always found that convincing someone it was in their best interest or that it was their deepest desire to follow his wishes was a much more effective source of motivation than the threat of coercion or force.

"Did you really love her Severus?"

Snape closed his eyes, willing himself to not rise to the bait.

"If you truly did, I imagine you'd want to help me track down the man who betrayed her to the Dark Lord, rather than lay down for a rest."

Snape shot up to his feet, causing Fawkes to fly off in startled protest.

"Who was it?"

"I need you to promise…"

"Who was it?!"

"…that you will bring him to me…"

"Who was it?!"

"…alive."

* * *

Snape pushed his way was through the sluggish rush hour crowd in Harold Square. Stupid muggles, oblivious to the dangers all around them. Did they even realize what terrible fate had almost befallen them? Some of these fools deserved to suffer subjugation! No, no, no – how could I still think like this? The Dark Lord's vision would have led to suffering for all, a dark future no one wanted.

Snape took a deep breath and his pent up rage floated away from the maddening crowd and settled down on Sirius Black – Sirius the Sneak. He had betrayed the Potters, sold them down the river to the Dark Lord. That arrogant, brash traitor! He had grown from a conceited schoolyard bully to devious turncoat and killer. Snape had always seen through the false bravado, had known Sirius was rotten to the core – he knew deep down in his bones, even before Dumbledore had uttered the truth, that Sirius was to blame for this unspeakable tragedy.

Snape had promised Dumbledore he would drag the scum back to Hogwarts alive, but who knows what might happen in the heat of battle? Dumbledore wanted the reasons for Sirius' betrayal, wanted to hear the filth's side of the story. What was there to learn? Who cares if he betrayed them for money, power, or to save his own worthless skin. Snape knew that if he got the chance, Sirius would never live to see Dumbledore, or anyone else, ever again.

Through the crush of the crowd Snape glimpsed the familiar gleaming black hair, flowing behind a tall barrel chested man. Snape clutched his wand tightly, knuckles whitening, and muttered something under his breath. The muggles in front of him were gently pushed to the side, as if there had been a sudden gust of a gentle wind – a clear pathway now in front of Snape. He hurried along, silently repeating the killing curse incantation over and over in his head.

Snape raised his wand, drawing strange looks from the muggles walking alongside him. Damn! Sirius darted down a narrow alleyway, as if he sensed the danger about to erupt behind him. Snape ran over to the alleyway entrance and slowly peered around the corner.

There were several muggles scattered around the entrance to a pub, with a few more walking up and down the alleyway. Sirius was in animated discussion with someone in grey robes. Snape stepped into the alleyway and let the hate flow through his body, it was easy to be consumed by it. He closed his eyes and strode into his memory house, slowly walking through the Hogwarts' rooms. He had so many wretched memories from which to draw upon, so much hate roiling within him. Snape knew he had the mettle to do what had to be done, for He had killed once before.

When casting an unforgivable, like the killing curse, one had to truly believe and deeply mean it, the wizard had to categorically want to cause death. Dark magic did not suffer fools, the timid and weak willed had no place in the dark arts. Snape's eyes glowed scarlet as terrible purpose coursed through his veins. Dumbledore's wishes be damned, he was going to send Sirius to the blind ferryman, give him a one way ticket to the deepest circle of hell, where all traitors and mutineers were destined to reside for all eternity.

But just before Snape could unleash his killing curse, Sirius let out a loud scream and brandished his wand. He pointed it at the short man in front of him, drawing the attention of everyone in the alleyway.

Sirius had caught up to the snitch Peter Pettigrew and revenge would now be his. For James, for Lily, for little Harry! But there was no happiness in Sirius, no swell of righteous justice, just a feeling of duty. His best friends in the world were dead, their son now an orphan, and all because of his ill-conceived gambit. Blame lay at his feet and his feet alone, but Peter had to answer for his part in the murders as well.

At the last moment, for reasons he could neither remember nor comprehend now, Sirius had persuaded James to make Peter their Secret Keeper instead of himself. Had he been too scared to carry the heavy burden? No, Sirius knew he loved James and Lily, he wasn't afraid of anything. At the time, it seemed like a brilliant piece of subterfuge, a stroke of deceptive genius! Everyone would naturally believe Sirius carried the precious secret, the location to the boy who spelled doom for the Dark Lord. The secret for which Lord Voldemort would no doubt search far and wide for. Sirius would go on the run, lead the Death Eaters on a wild goose chase around the world. Even if they somehow caught up to Sirius, no amount of magic or torture would reveal the secret, for he was the not the Keeper! No one in the world would ever suspect they had entrusted the secret location to little old Peter Pettigrew.

How had the Dark Lord gotten the fat rat to squeal so quickly?

It was of no matter, the die had been cast. The Potters were dead and soon Pettigrew would be too. Once this deed was done, Sirius would be dead too, for all intents and purposes. He cared not for his future, all that matter was avenging his best friend in the whole world …

"Goodbye Wormtail," Sirius hissed. "I curse the day the Sorting Hat called out Gryffindor while perched atop your fat ugly head."

Peter Pettigrew winced in pain, but not at the slight from one of his best friends. He had just severed his right index finger and tossed it behind him. A group if people watching the argument turned away in fright and disgust, not quite understanding the odd scene.

"STOP! Sirius Black! STOP!" Peter yelled loudly.

His shrill yell startled Sirius, who hesitated for a moment.

"You betrayed them Sirius Black! You betrayed the Potters! You killed them, Sirius Black!"

The crowd of muggles was now slowly dispersing, sensing the danger that hung heavy in the air.

"What are you shouting for, Peter? These muggles know nothing."

"Sirius Black! Sirius Black! You betrayed the Potters!"

"Enough of this, Wormtail. It's time for you to visit the ferry man, I'm sending you straight to hell."

Peter licked his lips in fear and slowly began to back away, his hands still behind his back. His right hand was a small ball of blood, as if he had just crushed a tomato in his palm. His left hand gripped his wand tightly – it was pointed at a spot on the ground several feet away.

As Sirius raised his wand, only two words were flowing through his mind – Avada Kedavra. Snape had the identical words floating in his mind as he ran down the alleyway, his wand outstretched in front of him. But before either of the two wizards could kill their intended targets, a large explosion shattered the air.

Sirius felt a sudden burst of heat flash over him as he was lifted off the ground slammed into a nearby wall. The back of his head split open like busted seams on an old coat and he fell limply to the ground, blood pooling around him. Severus flew backward, as if an invisible giant hook had gripped him about the waist and yanked. He hit the ground hard and skidded along the pavement, his face shredded by smoldering gravel. He blacked out instantly from the pain, his breathing slow and haggard.

Other bystanders were not so lucky. Twelve innocent people died that day – school teachers, lawyers, sons, daughters, even children. The headline in the London Times the next day would read: "IRA Strikes in the Heart of London!"

Among the smoldering debris and the congealing blood and the horrified screaming, was a small, rather shabby looking rat. The explosion seemed to have mangled one of its toes, but it otherwise seemed unharmed. It scurried away, winding its way along an improvised escape route, over and around fallen bodies. It stopped at a sewer grate for a moment, looked back upon the devastation in the alleyway, and then it was gone.

Wormtail was a survivor.


	14. No Good Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and the Marauders - destinies intertwined.

Cornelius Oswald Fudge was a natural leader and born for the world of politics. The strategy, social games and handshake deals – all these came easily to him. He had run the best lemonade stand on the block as a wee kid. He had won numerous school elections while attending Hogwarts and knew from an early age that the Ministry of Magic was where he would spend the majority of, if not his entire career. He could play the bumbling fool, the savvy negotiator and the hard line conservative. He had run many a successful campaign, was an amazing fund raiser and had even been known to keep one or two donations for strictly for himself. After all, the money was raised on the back of his hard work – why shouldn't he get a little taste?

Fudge would rise quickly within the Ministry of Magic, and by 1990 he would ascend to the most powerful magical position in all of Great Britain – Minister of Magic. His swearing in would be the happiest day of his life. The portly little man would be able to hold onto that coveted position for 6 years. Some Ministers only lasted one or two years, not bad for a kid who failed charms class his first two years at Hogwarts.

But today Fudge was still a decade away from achieving the highest political post in Great Britain. Today, he found himself in the middle of bedlam in downtown London. What a mess, he thought. Destroyed buildings, twelve dead muggles, one dead wizard and two injured Death Eaters. It was going to be a hell of a long night writing up this report. But Fudge didn't mind. Competent and efficient handling of tough situations was what was going to allow him to rise quickly through the Ministry ranks.

Fudge was a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes and one of the first on the scene after Sirius Black's terrorist attack. He arrived with a squad of trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and had secured the area immediately. Fudge was impressed with the squad he had been tasked with. There were some real stars in the bunch, probably a few future aurors in this lot.

While he watched impassively, the Hit Wizards magically roped off the area from curious onlookers. A muggle passing the alleyway would now see a closed off fence with a large sign that warned of a gas leak. One of the Hit Wizards had stupefied some constables who had been on the scene – when the extensive magical damage was completely repaired, Fudge would plant the memory of a terrorist attack in the minds of the constables.

Fudge didn't know much about muggle politics, but he knew tensions were high between London proper and some group known as the IRA and this would be an easily acceptable group for the muggle world to blame. A clean and tidy solution to this horrible business. His superiors should be impressed with this little bit of muggle knowledge – it would show he was thorough and took his work a step further than most.

Fudge's mind drifted from his next political move to the actual horror of the scene before him. Such a needless loss of life. Poor muggles, wrong place at the wrong time. So often that was the case in these situations. Too bad there wasn't a spell to bring innocents back to life. One day, he would become Minister of Magic and solve all these problems. God help any criminals arrested during his tenure!

Fudge never forgot the scene that day. He would sometimes dream about it as he grew older. There was a large crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had completely cracked the sewer running below it. That was going to take an impressive bit of magic to fix, mustn't leave too big a mess for the muggles to clean up. Showing compassion was also important in the eyes of his superiors. Maniacal cackling behind Fudge drew his attention. It was a delirious laugh, devoid of warmth or compassion.

Fudge turned around and stared at Sirius Black – mass murderer Sirius Black. Long ragged black hair, burns across his face, dried blood specked on his robes. He was crying out a mirthless laugh, hollow and empty. He certainly seemed amused with today's events. There was no dark mark on his arm, but there was no doubt he was one of the Dark Lord's followers. Fudge was going to recommend an immediate sentence to Azkaban, no need to waste the Wizengamot's time with a trial for this psychopath.

However, there might have to be a trial for the fellow Death Eater next to Sirius. Fudge was not quite sure who the pale skinny man lying next to Sirius was. He was dressed in magical robes and, initially, Fudge had been concerned that another wizard, apart from the courageous Peter Pettigrew, had been grievously injured. None of the muggle witnesses remembered seeing the wizard, he appeared to be another unfortunate bystander. But when Fudge saw his left forearm, his empathy vanished. He immediately placed magical restraints on the young man and told the medical personnel dispatched from St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries there was no need to hurry. There were two stony faced Hit Wizards standing behind the two Death Eaters, wands pointed at their backs. Fudge turned back to the street, confident there was no way the two criminals would escape on his watch.

Severus Snape looked like two different people put together. The right side of his body was disheveled; robes tattered, but no worse for the wear. The left side was another story – it was a bloody mess. The blast had thrown him backwards and he had skidded along on his left side. His left cheek felt like it had been placed in a blender, he was sure his jaw had been dislocated and his left arm might have been broken. The junior minister could have easily waved his wand and eased some of his pain, but all Snape received from Fudge was the occasional nasty look.

Even worse than the pulsing pain wracking his body, was the delirious laughing coming from the man sitting on the curb next to him. Snape wanted desperately to break loose of his restraints and drive his fist down Sirius' throat, but instead he was relegated to listening to the murderer sniggering. Everyone once in a while Snape would hear him mutter something about missed justice or too quick a death. Clearly, the man had lost what little sanity he had left. The Dark Lord must have seriously twisted his mind.

Snape shuddered as he remembered one of the occasions when the Dark Lord had penetrated his mind, walking freely through his memory house, violating even his most personal recollections. And Snape was a natural, gifted Legilimens. Who knows what the Dark Lord could do to lesser minds. As another wave of fresh pain rose up through Snape's body, he leaned to the side and vomited on Sirius, who gave no sign he had noticed or cared. Just before passing out, Snape thought he heard the sounds of a large van pulling into the alleyway.

* * *

Snape's mid lifted from a cloud haze, jostled awake by the swaying of his seat. He tentatively opened his eyes, not truly caring but curious as to where he was. He was in the back of a van, a Magical Enforcement "wagon" by the looks of it. Bars lined the windows and the partition to the front seat. Snape was shackled to the seat by magical restraints – chains were continuously slithering along his body, squeezing tight, going lax, and then squeezing tight again. It was difficult to escape when your restraints had no lock and were continually slithering across your body.

Snape had a sudden pang of thirst, his mouth tasted of dried blood. A raspy cough drew his eyes to the figure seated across from him. Sirius Black looked like he had aged 100 years since Snape had last seen him. His long black hair was frayed and he had a psychotic aura about him. Snape stared hard at the man who had treated him with the utmost disdain, with total disrespect the moment they first met on the Hogwarts train so long ago. The very first words Sirius had ever directed towards Snape had been barbed insults. Well, at least some people got what they deserved thought Snape. The famous Sirius Black, Gryffindor heartthrob and rebel Black family member, was going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his treacherous life.

Snape caught Sirius' eye and gave him a vindictive sneer.

"What the hell were you doing here today Snivellus?"

"Worry more about yourself Black. Enjoy the little freedom you have left."

"We're going together, just you and I!" laughed Sirius.

Snape angrily spat towards Sirius, but he was so weak it just came out as a feeble spray, dribbling over his chin and down his robes. Sirius' crazy laughter echoed again in the back of the wagon. As Cornelius Fudge yelled at them from the front seat to pipe down, Snape dropped his eyes and looked down at the floor. Today was not the first time Sirius had almost gotten him killed.

* * *

"Are you sure he's following you?" Sirius impatiently asked his fellow Gryffindor.

"Yes, yes. I'm quite sure," squeaked Peter. "Why don't you ever believe me?"

"Because _Wormtail_ , you're not the brightest bulb in the box."

Peter appeared to bristle indignantly at the perceived slight, but the truth was he wasn't offended in the least. He loved being part of Sirius' gang, being included in the hijinks. And, if he was being in honest with himself, Sirius was right – he was a little thick sometimes.

"I waited until he was behind me in the library and then I told Devin he had to cover for me in charms class, cause I had to urgently speak with you down by the lake. Here look! Check the map!"

Peter thrust the Marauder's Map into Sirius' hands. Sure enough, a small dot labeled Severus Snape was closing quickly on their location, the western shores of the Great Lake.

"Sometimes I underestimate you Wormtail," said Sirius as he rubbed Peter's hair. "Now go stand over there with the map. When you see that Snivellus is in place to overhear us, turn around and loudly ask me to go over the plan again."

Peter deeply blushed, his hair tingling where Sirius' had tousled it. He happily bounced over to a tree, feeling light after the rare Sirius' compliment. I can't believe such a handsome, popular boy enjoys spending time with me!

"But what exactly is the plan?"

"Wormtail, would you shut up till he gets here?!"

Peter turned away and looked across the Great Lake, wondering what was in there. He had heard voices floating across the lake on some of the Marauders' night adventures. Maybe merpeople lived down there. Lost in watery thoughts, Peter didn't look down at the map for a good five minutes. When he did, he saw a tiny dot labeled Severus Snape nestled amongst the trees behind him and Sirius. It was time. Action!

Peter tapped the map with his wand, whispered "Mischief Managed" and shoved them into his back pocket. He turned around and sauntered over to a bored looking Sirius. God, what beautiful flowing hair he has…no wonder all the girls chase him.

"Sirius, I don't understand. What exactly is the plan for tonight?"

"Wor-," Sirius stopped short, not wanting to use one of their secret nicknames while Severus was listening. "Peter, are you dense? I'll explain it one more time, and then we have to get back to charms. I can't afford any more detentions. Me, you and James – we leave the common room separately and meet in the Astronomy Tower late tonight. Make sure you're not seen by anyone; avoid Filch and any Slytherins, especially Snape."

"No one can ever see us, we have James' invis–."

"Shut up Peter!" screamed Sirius. The idiot almost gave away the fact that the gang had an invisibility cloak. What a moron. "Now, we meet at the tower and finalize our plans to humiliate the Slytherins at the next Sunday feast in the Great Hall. Any questions?"

Come on Peter, Sirius thought. Ask about Remus. Sirius stared hard at Peter, nodding his head as if to push him to say something. Peter winked at him, understanding.

"Nope. Sounds good to me Sirius. Let's get going, back to class."

Sirius sighed and then grabbed Peter before he could scamper off.

"And Peter," Sirius warned loudly. "Do not tell a soul about Remus and the Whomping Willow."

Peter's eyes narrowed in confusion, he forgot they were acting. "Of course! I would never tell his secret, I don't need to be reminded!"

"Good, because he will be there tonight. Remember, if you hit the small knot at the trunk, the tree branches becomes immobilized. And you can then squeeze through the opening in the tree roots and into the secret passage."

"I know all this already!"

"I'm just reminding you not to disturb him tonight. His secret is of utmost importance! It's crucial for our attack!"

Peter was now thoroughly confused, "What attack?"

Sirius shook his head for the umpteenth time; this kid was really slow on the uptake sometimes. He grabbed Peter's arm and steered him back towards the castle, whispering "Never mind about an attack. Just keep your mouth shut about what we just did. Don't go squealing to James first chance you get."

As Sirius and Peter walked away from the Great Lake and back towards Hogwarts, Severus rose from his crouched hiding place. The conversation he had just heard didn't quite make sense, but then again the Marauders weren't exactly brilliant scholars. Of course they would be planning an attack during next Sunday's feast; exacting revenge for the latest Malfoy and Avery prank – the two Slytherins had turned the Gryffindor quidditch team uniforms silver and green during last week's match.

As Severus hurried back the Slytherin dungeons, he couldn't wait for tonight. For once he would have the drop on the gang of four.

* * *

Severus was scared…no…he was terrified.

He had been debating all day whether or not to go to the Astronomy Tower to eavesdrop on James and Sirius or sneak down to the Whomping Willow to see if what Sirius had said was true. Was there really a way to freeze the willow? Was there really a secret passage? There was no one he could confide in and solicit advice on the best course of action. Lily would not be happy knowing he wanted to spy on her fellow Gryffindors. She was turning into everyone else in the castle, thinking that James and Sirius could do no wrong. And he didn't want to tell any of his fellow Slytherins; he wasn't that close to any of them and the ones he was on friendly terms with would probably try to take all the glory for themselves by foiling the Gryffindor prank. Severus would like to be the hero for once in his miserable life.

Severus finally decided that the chance to get the drop on James and Sirius was more appealing than ferreting out Remus' night time secret. But as he headed off towards the tower late at night, he glimpsed through a window Remus and Madam Pomfrey crossing the school grounds. He just couldn't resist the temptation and began following them. Severus was shocked to find that they indeed were headed to the Whomping Willow.

He watched as Madam Pomfrey levitated a twig, sent it smashing into the willow tree trunk, and impossibly, the flailing tree limbs went silent. Madam Pomfrey walked to the trunk with Remus, gave the boy a quick hug and watched him crawl through a hole near the trunk of the tree. She then quickly walked back to the castle, walking right by the very bushes Severus was hiding in.

Severus couldn't believe it – had Sirius been telling the truth? Remus had snuck off to the Whomping Willow this evening, but for what purpose? Why would Madam Pomfrey be helping Remus do something underhanded? Maybe Lucius was right – the faculty really did favor Gryffindor! They were prejudiced against House Slytherin! If Severus could catch Remus doing something nasty, and get evidence a faculty member was complicit – oh my! Slughorn must be told about this treachery. At worst, he would have the drop on a Marauder all alone and without backup. None of them had ever dared to attack Severus in a fair fight.

The Whomping Willow began swaying back and forth again, snapping Severus out of his reverie. He approached the tree cautiously; those swinging limbs could easily crush him. Why on Earth was such a tree even allowed to exist on the school grounds? It was so dark, how had Madam Pomfrey even been able to see the knot that froze the tree limbs?

Severus reached his wand back, whispered "Lumos Maxima", and flicked his wand towards the Whomping Willow. A ball of light appeared at the tip of his wand and then flew towards the large tree. It landed softly in the grass and illuminated the base of the tree trunk. Severus flicked his wand towards the tree once again and a twig lying by his feet floated up and sped towards the knot, just missing its target. It took a couple more tries, but Severus was finally able to hit the knot and incapacitate the tree. With a deep breath, he crossed to the tree trunk and headed down, through a large gap in the roots.

Severus crawled forward, headfirst, and slid down an earthly slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. The tunnel was crudely made and very narrow. Even the young Severus had to crouch low in order to navigate through it. On and on the tunnel went, much longer than Severus expected. And then the tunnel began to rise, twisting sharply to the right. He could see a patch of dim light through a small opening – through that opening lay Remus, all alone, hiding something terrible. But Severus stood rooted to the ground.

Severus was scared…no…he was terrified.

The sounds emanating from the opening were not…human. It sounded like there was an animal in there, a terribly angry animal. Anguished wails, loud yelling, clawing and scrapping, it sounded like…shrieking! Severus considered leaving, hightailing it out of there and getting back to the safety of the castle. But almost immediately the thought was pushed out of his mind. I am not going back. I am not such a coward.

He stumbled forward, closer and closer to the opening. He carefully peered through it. It opened into a room – a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up. The room was deserted, but to the right a door stood open…and something was moving outside of it. Severus saw a shadow flash across the doorway. What was that? It looked like…

Two strong arms materialized around Severus' body and he was forcibly pulled back through the opening. He tumbled down the steep rise of the tunnel, someone firmly wrapped around him. He slammed into the ground, buffered against the other person. Severus rolled off to the side, rose to a knee and pointed his wand at his attacker. But he was a step too slow, for his assailant already had his wand out.

"Expelliarmus!"

Severus' wand went flying down the tunnel.

"Lumos," said the unseen attacker and light shone brightly, illuminating the tunnel. Severus got a clear view of a lean boy, with messy black hair and square rimmed glasses – it was a wild looking James Potter. Hate and jealousy flowed through Severus. Again, he had been duped! It was at that moment that Severus decided it was time he began to embrace his Slytherin house mates. Fighting his battles 1 vs. 4 because of his pride and reluctance to make friends had cost him one too many times. He waited for the sound of Sirius' voice to echo behind him, one was never far from the other. Trapped in a tunnel, wandless, this was not going to end well for the young Slytherin.

"What are you waiting for Potter? You and your friends want to play with your food before eating it?"

"Shut up for once Severus and listen to me. I'm trying to help you!"

"We both know that's a goddamn lie!"

"You're right, I don't give a shit about you. But I do care about Remus!"

As James said his friend's name, he involuntarily turned his head back towards at the small opening. Severus immediately launched himself onto James, knocking away the wand with one hand and driving a fist into James' stomach with the other. James doubled over from the punch, wheezing for air.

Severus took a step back, and then drove his knee into James' head, knocking the Gryffindor down to the ground. Severus stepped over James and lunged for his wand, but just as his fingers touched it, he was jerked backward. James had grabbed Severus' robes and tugged him back. James then tackled Severus and the two boys rolled around the cramped tunnel – trading punches, elbows and kicks.

Finally, James was able to untangle himself from Severus and kick him away. He scooped up his wand and pointed it at the prone Severus.

"You move another muscle and I'll permanently turn you into a slug!"

"Do it then Potter. Put me out of my misery," softly cried Severus. His nose bloody, glistening with tears.

"I'm saving your life you idiot. We have to leave. Now!"

"Save my life? Why lie James? There's no one around to hear you're bullshit. It's just us."

"You would've been ripped apart had you gone any further into that shack!"

"Ripped apart? By weak, sickly Remus? What's he hiding in there?!"

James' reply was drowned out by a shrill howl sounding from the opening. He looked hard at Severus, and then shoved his wand back into his robes. He turned to the side, making room for Severus, and held out a hand towards the opening.

Severus paused, hesitant, wary of a trick, but his curiosity got the best of him and he inched past James towards the opening once again. Whatever had been howling was now very close to the opening. Severus crawled forward slowly, aware of the tense breathing behind him and the low growling in front of him. He was very close to the opening now, something large was just in front of it. Too large to fit through the small opening. What was it? If he could just get a little closer he could see. Just a little farther, that's it…it looked like a…

Severus tore down the tunnel, James right on his heels. The two teens half-crawled half-ran as fast as they could, their heads bouncing off the roof of the tunnel every few seconds. Severus reached the tunnel entrance and flew out of it, dodging the swinging branches with surprising agility. Once he was out of the Whomping Willow's range, he turned around to catch his breath. James was right behind him, but a flailing branch clipped him just before he reached Severus. James skidded to a halt, blood dripping down the side of his face. Severus stood over him, staring. I could just push him a little further back, into the willow's strike zone. No one's around, no one would know. They'd blame the tree, or maybe the beast contained within. No one would know it was me.

But Severus knew in his heart he couldn't do it. God I'm so weak. Partly ashamed, partly proud, Severus hoisted the unconscious James onto his shoulders and headed for the hospital wing. Severus gave the Whomping Willow one last look. Severus would travel back through the tunnel and into the Shrieking Shack two more times in his life. The next time, over ten years later, he would track Lupin there in the hopes of exacting revenge on Sirius Black. And the final time – the Dark Lord would summon his most trusted servant to meet him there for one final service.

* * *

"I know you'll do the honorable thing Severus. You are strong. You are loyal. And above all else, you are wise. I trust you with Remus' secret, and believe you will never tell a soul," Dumbledore said to the gangly young boy standing across from him.

"You don't know a thing about me," spat Severus, trying to appear unmoved by the headmaster's words. He hated the warm feeling enveloping his heart. He didn't need this old man's approval.

"I know more than you think Severus," smiled Dumbledore serenely. "You showed true courage tonight. Come now. It's time for you to head back to your room. The hour is late and you've had quite an adventure."

Headmaster and student walked along the hospital wing's corridor, passing empty beds on either side. Except the bed right at the end of the wing, near the hospital entrance. In that bed lay James Potter, badly bruised but alive.

Jealous hate sprouted from Snape as he walked by James. Of course Dumbledore, Slughorn, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey all thought James was some kind of hero. Severus had just been an inquisitive sneak. I mean was the whole goddamn world against me? James hadn't been acting heroically or altruistically, he just wanted to protect Remus and Sirius from getting into trouble, which in turn would have gotten him into trouble. Dumbledore had called it a life debt. Are you freaking kidding me? I owe him some sort of magical debt now? I saved his life too, dragging his worthless ass back to the castle. Where was my debt? I bet Sirius and Peter just get off with warnings.

And now I'm sworn to secrecy about Lupin the freak. I gave my word I would never speak of what happened tonight. I bet Dumbledore didn't make anyone else swear. I showed just as much moxie as James did! Why did everyone favor him?! Much to Severus' chagrin, the whole castle already seemed to be abuzz with a story of how James had saved silly little Severus from the Whomping Willow.

Dumbledore held open the door to the hospital wing and allowed Severus to exit. Waiting outside was a worried looking McGonagall, an anxious Peter and a smiling Sirius. As the Gryffindors trooped by, Professor McGonagall gave Severus a quick hug, Peter looked down at the ground, but Sirius slowed down to bump into Severus. As Severus looked up, Sirius winked and drew a long finger across his throat, nasty mischief dancing in his eyes.

* * *

Snape looked up as the wagon stopped. Sirius had the same mischievous look in his eyes from that long ago night, but with a more haunted twinge. Cornelius Fudge shouted smugly from the front of the wagon.

"Sorry to inform you boys, but the Ministry holding cells were extremely crowded. So until the Wizengamot has time to hear your cases you will be held here…in Azkaban."

The door to the wagon opened, and Snape was dragged out. He looked up and saw that he was far away from land, out in the icy waters of the North Sea. He was on a tiny island, the home of the most dreaded wizarding prison on the face of the Earth. Snape saw Dementors flying above the prison walls, sightless soul sucking fiends. They fed on a wizard's emotions, his hopes and dreams. There was no real need for the walls and bars, most prisoners became trapped within their own minds. Some went insane, driven mad when bereft of a hopeful thought; others simply died without putting up a fight. It was then Snape realized he hadn't been in a Ministry wagon, no, he had been in a secured Ministry plane.

Cornelius Fudge was busy yelling at a Dementor, no doubt explaining the sudden arrival of two prisoners. Could the Dementor even understand him? The Hit Wizards who had accompanied the prisoners on the flight quickly headed back to the plane, not wanting to stand a moment longer on the dark island. Snape looked over at Sirius, who was leering crazily at him, an awful rictus of a smile plastered on his face. My God, he had already gone insane. I am truly alone now.

Cornelius walked over to them, whispering "Okay boys, enjoy. I'll be back to fetch you when your case comes to trial." Cornelius slowly looked around, adding "If I remember to call your case before the judges." He then strode over to the plane, yelling at the pilot to take off at once.

A huge gust of salty wind blew across the island, as a Dementor floated down and led the two forsaken men towards the prison entrance. The entrance was protected by a large gate, a mix of metal and stone. Two fearsome looking gargoyle statues stood above the gate, their twisting grimaces welcoming all new residents. Abandon all hope ye who enter here…Snape looked around for any sign of comfort, of hope, of anything. All he got was the sound of the plane taking off, the vast expanse of the North Sea, the impossibly high walls of the prison, the air heavy with futility, and the unsettling pitch of Sirius' laughter.

Snape looked over at the other dead man walking. Sirius turned towards him, still cackling like a maniac, but his eyes…his eyes seemed all too sane. Sirius winked and drew a long finger across his throat, nasty mischief dancing in his eyes.


	15. Less than a Spirit, Less than the Meanest Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord is broken.

… _Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out._

" _Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."_

" _Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."_

_Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night._

" _I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply._

_Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four._

" _Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone…_

…Dumbledore soundlessly appeared in the front yard of a large beachside cottage, built into the rock of a small cliff. Silent apparition was an ability only a few had ever mastered, out of reach for a common wizard, but then again, Dumbledore had never been a common wizard. The cottage had been built by one of Dumbledore's distant relatives, the second cousin of his father's uncle or some such relation. Located on a private beach 20 miles north of Newcastle, random passersby were few and far between.

It was a beautiful bungalow, with spacious rooms split between two floors. It was seamlessly carved into the cliff face, filled with large fireplaces, comfy armchairs and expansive bathrooms. It afforded its occupants a picturesque view of North Sea waves crashing down on a white sand beach. It was here that Dumbledore had chosen as the first headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

It had been a whirlwind of activity and ever changing information over the past 36 hours. The First Wizarding War had been in full swing, with the dark side notching victory after victory. Deaths and disappearance of Order allies had become commonplace. Mistrust and suspicion dominated the social atmosphere, all but stamping out generosity and basic kindness.

The town square battle had left Dumbledore quite shaken; his dueling skills had deteriorated as he become more and more immersed in teaching and bureaucracy. As the Order power and membership shrunk, so grew the clout of the Death Eaters. But then, on Halloween, the entire struggle had been turned on its head. The greatest dark wizard of all time had been destroyed, by a mere child. It was incomprehensible.

After hearing the prophecy a year ago, Dumbledore had come to the grim conclusion that the wizarding world was in for a long, protracted war. If the Potter boy really was to be the one true savior and vanquish the Dark Lord, it would be years, decades even, before he grew strong enough to defeat Lord Voldemort. The boy would need to be protected and kept safe, he would need to train and study for years to learn the secrets of fighting dark magic. Dumbledore had decided to eventually take a personal hand in training the boy in the art of dueling. But somehow the child, just a year old, had defeated the greatest dark wizard in known history.

All of wizarding Britain seemed to be celebrating – how had the good news traveled so fast? Wizards were out and about, jubilantly rejoicing, with no care or bother at all to hiding themselves from muggles. Fireworks had been going off every hour, shooting stars flaming across the sky, and even the weather seemed to have suddenly improved.

But no one seemed to be asking why? Everyone except Dumbledore. What exactly had occurred in that bedroom? What spell had been performed? What enchantment had the Potters cast? Dumbledore had closely inspected the baby when Hagrid had arrived at Privet Drive. The only odd marking had been a curious lightening shaped scar on the child's forehead. Other than that the baby looked remarkably normal, plain even. Dumbledore wasn't sure if he had been expecting the baby to talk coherently or perform complex magic, but he had expected something…more.

It would be several years, after tedious research on Tom Riddle's life, exhausting travel and copious amounts of reading, that Dumbledore would begin to formulate a plausible theory about what had occurred that night. For now, he was just a clueless as everyone else as to how a child had ostensibly appeared to have saved the world from a dark menace. But for all he did not know, of one thing Dumbledore was sure of, the Dark Lord would someday rise again.

* * *

Tom Riddle had never felt such pain in his life. Raw, unadulterated, nerve wrenching pain. Worse than the early beatings at the orphanage, worse that the soul tears of his first few murders, worse than the burns sustained in the early battles of this war. Tom experienced such visceral pain, that he was sure this must be death. It felt like his fingernails had been ripped out and bent backwards. It felt like someone had taken a ball pin hammer to his knuckles. It felt like his skin had been slowly peeled from his bones. As the pain reached a spine shattering crescendo, blackness began to envelope him. He was suffocating, a fish out of water, gasping for air. His lungs burned, screaming for relief. He couldn't move, paralyzed, helpless against the pain. For the first time since he had been a young boy, Tom felt terrified.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. Tom found himself lying on the floor of the bedroom, the only sound the soft cries of that damned child. Too frightened to stand up just yet, he moved his eyes around the room. One of the walls was blown apart, scorched burn marks littered the ceiling. What the hell just happened? My curse must have rebounded, but how? How did I not foresee this? How am I alive? My god, my experiments must have worked. The precautions I began taking so long ago have borne fruit. I cannot die.

Tom decided to risk slowly moving his head, hesitant that the slightest twitch might bring back that wretched pain he had just been subjected to. Now the arms, ok, let me move my feet. Nothing happened, the body did not twist in agony – everything appeared to be in working order. Tom pushed himself up to his feet. The room spun a little, and then settled down. He could not see clearly, as if a milky film was covering his eyes, a watery cataract.

I wish that child would shut up. Where is my wand? I'll finish this once and for all. Tom searched the ground, becoming frustrated with his milky eyesight. No amount of rubbing seemed to lift the hazy veil. Debris littered the floor of the bedroom, there was the foolish girl's body, the crib…no it couldn't be…lying towards the back of the bedroom, directly opposite the crib, Tom Riddle stared down at this own scorched body.

Tom's mind teetered to edge of reason, threatening to become hinged at the impossible scene. He peered down at the body, his body, the fearsome Lord Voldemort's body. The chest had a large burn, where his killing curse had rebounded and struck him. The killing curse should not have made mark! His snakelike face had a vacant, unknowing expression plastered across it. Terrified, Tom raised his hands to his milky eyes. There were white, translucent, not the hands he had known all his life.

He was less than a spirit, less than the meanest ghost…yet he was alive. Over the years people would claim that there was only one person in the world who had ever survived the killing curse, Harry Potter. But technically Tom had survived the same curse as well.

He was now entering unchartered waters. What he was, what he would become, how he would survive – even he did not know. He had traveled farther down the path to immortality than any wizard in history, but was this the price? What now? Where would he go – Britain was no longer safe. He was supremely confident no one knew his deepest secret, but he could not stay here and risk being discovered. He would go…run far away…to a distant land…hide deep within a forest…on a foreign shore…that he had discovered a lifetime ago…the place which had once hidden Ravenclaw's greatest treasure.

Tom took one final look at his former body, the husk of his previous life. He stared hard at the white, porcelain face, into the dark slits which held burning scarlet eyes.

* * *

Burning, scarlet eyes – even in death they seemed alive and full of malice. Dumbledore shook off a shiver crawling up his spine and turned away from the destroyed body. The Ministry officials and Aurors in the room were bustling about, cataloguing evidence and taking pictures. But there was not the clinical feel that accompanied most crime scenes. There was happiness in the air, a sense of relief that juxtaposed the somber scene. They, along with the majority of the wizarding world, were overjoyed, so happy the dark cloud had been lifted. Dumbledore shook his head, the snake had simply shed his skin – he was not truly dead. It was going to take a great effort to convince the people in this room of that fact.

"Alastor," Dumbledore addressed the man standing in a corner of the Potter's bedroom. "Could I have a word?"

Alastor Moody looked over at the old wizard dressed in powder blue robes. Moody had just been promoted to the position of Head Auror and for many the appointment had never been an "if", but rather a "when". Moody's parents had both been experienced Aurors, catching dark wizards ran in his blood. He was a pure-blood and had grown up in the mountains of Scotland. Although many in the Moody family had been distinguished Aurors, Alastor had now become the most renowned. It was true that Albus Dumbledore was the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, was the only wizard that had given Lord Voldemort pause, and was a symbol of hope for the wizarding world during the First Wizarding War. But it could be said that Alastor Moody had more of an actual impact in helping defend the world from Lord Voldemort.

Moody had personally helped capture or kill dozens of dark wizards and it was said that half the cells in Azkaban were occupied due to his actions. Moody's dueling skills were legendary and he was feared among the Death Eater ranks for good reason. It was said he could think and act just as a dark wizard could – in fact, early on in the war, two Death Eaters had paid him a visit with a strong recruiting pitch. They were never seen or heard from again.

Moody had been a handsome boy in his youth. He had an athletic build, naturally strong with a wiry frame. In another life he could have been a professional chaser for the English national team. He had been blessed with long dark hair, vivid blue eyes and a youthful face. A fun and inquisitive boy he had been.

However, the man now standing in front of Dumbledore showed the wear and tear on having been on the front lines of a brutal war. A small chunk was missing from his nose, he had a few scars lining his face and his long dark hair had started to turn grizzled and grey. He also now sported a wooden leg, courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange. But his vivid blue eyes were still alive, excitement dancing within them. A year from now he would be known as mad-eye, the result of a knife thrown by a desperate Death Eater hiding deep in the rolling hills of Ireland.

"Dumbledore, you shouldn't really even be here. This is now an official Ministry operation."

"Become Head Auror and have already forgotten I used to wipe the drool from your cute little face as a wee baby?"

"Alright, alright, keep yer voice down. What is it then?"

"Alastor I understand the celebrations and the festive atmosphere at the Ministry, I really do. But there is still work to be done."

"Of course, I know it. There are still Death Eaters at large, running around, more dangerous than ever without their leader."

"Yes, that is true. We must be vigilant. But the Dark Lord… Alastor…he will rise again."

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore had anticipated the questions he would be asked, to produce some evidence of his belief that Lord Voldemort had not truly died. The truth was Dumbledore wasn't entirely sure himself just yet. Regulus Black's house elf had delivered the vital message some time ago, and Dumbledore had been convinced of the veracity of it, but the truth was that vein of dark magic had not been studied or traveled down in a long time. Dumbledore needed more time to study the subject, truly understand the steps the Dark Lord had taken. Dumbledore also did not want many others knowing this information. For if the Dark Lord ever got a hint that someone had discovered his deepest secret, He might take even more precautions in guarding it. How to convince others, while not giving them the truth?

"I believe the Dark Lord still walks the Earth, albeit in a weakened state. I want you to let the Aurors know this, to be on the lookout for any traces of him. Constant vigilance!"

"Yes, constant…What exactly happened here?"

Dumbledore turned away from the famed Auror, began speaking to himself just as much as to Moody.

"From time to time, over the coming years I will call on you to accompany on some…travels. Especially in the summer, when Hogwarts will be less busy. Yes, we have accomplished a tremendous amount. But there is still much to discover."

* * *

Tom found that as this shattered spirit he could still feel pain, hunger, even anger. Not loneliness or sadness, but then again he had never ever suffered from such pedestrian emotions. And his mind, his brilliant mind, was still whole and intact. Unfortunately, he was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, with no body and no wand to help perform any spell. He tried and tried to perform nonverbal, wandless magic, but alas, it was of no use. However, one power remained to him. Tom Riddle could possess the bodies of others.

After Tom fled the forsaken Potter house, he stuck to the coast and avoided humans at all costs. If one of them happened to be a wizard and realized what and who he was…the consequences could be dire. He sometimes inhabited animals – snakes, of course, being his preference – but he was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic and his possession of them shortened their lives; none of the animals lasted long.

Over the course of a few days, Tom was able to make it to the York shipyard. He traveled only at night, either slowly gliding along as a broken spirit or by possessing small animals he came across. He drank and ate all matter of horrible things to survive – muddy water, rotten berries, small insects. Nothing ever slaked his thirst or filled his hunger.

Tom glided across the dark docks, sticking to the shadows. A few longshoremen passed by him, but none of them would do – they were all too strong willed. Finally, a young lad walked by, headed for a ship about to disembark from the port and sail east. The boy could not have been more than eighteen, excited for his first real job. He was gullible and naïve and just the type of weak willed individual Tom preyed on.

When The Hotspur left the York shipyard its manifest said it was sailing to Lisbon, Tangier, then through the Isle of Gibraltar to Rome, Malta, finally finishing its voyage on the shores of Albania, near the city of Vlorë. It was supposed to be carrying oil, salt and various cured meats to all of those foreign ports. But now it was also carrying the wrecked spirit of the most dangerous dark wizard of all time.


	16. Only the Penitent Man shall Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To put it lightly, Azkaban is not a pleasant stay.

According to ancient Pottermore lore, the name 'Azkaban' is derived from a mixture of the prison 'Alcatraz', which is its closest Muggle equivalent, being set on an island, and 'Abaddon', which is a Hebrew word meaning 'place of destruction' or 'depths of hell'. It was initially a fortress created by a powerful wizard known as Ekrizdis, an avid practitioner of the dark arts. Ensconced within his North Sea fortress, he would lure muggle ships to his hidden island and torture their sailors to death. For pleasure or as subjects on which to practice dark spells – it is unknown. What is known was that he was an unconscionably cruel man according to the few wizards who were brave enough to admit knowing him as a boy. For years tales spread about a hidden terror in the North Sea – deadly sirens, Poseidon seeking revenge, the Loch Ness sea monster. Many would refuse work if the ship manifest dictated a path through the North Sea.

It was only when Ekrizdis died, and his concealment charms faded away, that the Ministry of Magic realized the island and dark fortress even existed. The investigative reports from the officials who searched the place are heavily redacted, ostensibly due to the terrible dark magic and awful objects discovered within. The information that remained detailed an abundance of corpses, illegal animals of all sorts and an infestation of Dementors.

While many wizards suggested the immediate destruction of such a dark building, others were fearful that depriving this horde of Dementors a home they clearly loved would cause them to seek revenge on the mainland. They were also fearful the dark building itself might have the ability to defend itself or even worse seek its own kind of retribution. Not much was and is known about buildings solely erected by strong dark magic and what could happen if they were improperly demolished. After many years of forgotten use, the Ministry decided to employ it as a prison and entered into an uneasy agreement with the Dementors. Even though the prison conditions were deplorable, nearly three centuries of no successful escapes convinced the Ministry to keep it up and running.

However, during the first and second wizarding wars there were four known instances of prisoners escaping. Lord Voldemort engineered two mass breakouts when he returned to power, thereby highlighting the danger of using Dementors as the sole guards. In 1982, Bartemius Crouch Jr was helped to escape the prison by his father and mother – who took advantage of the Dementors' blindness. And in 1993, the infamous Sirius Black became the first person to ever escape Azkaban unassisted.

It was in this island hell that Severus Snape had been confined for almost a week. Initially, he had been too weak and defeated from Lily's death to care where he was or what would happen to him. However, after one night in a cold Azkaban cell, he began to hope and pray that his guardian Dumbledore would save him from this nightmare. After two more nights locked in the cell, the prison had sucked what little hope he had and Snape had begun to accept his dreary fate, slowly losing any will to fight back.

The abundance of so many Dementors turned the prison air into a perpetual chill, it felt as though one were moving through a thick fog. The cells were carved into cold stone, with small windows that only afforded a bleak view of the North Sea. The food served was frozen and partly rotting. Since so many of the prisoners lost their minds during their incarceration, insane asylum would have been a more apt description of Azkaban. Severus heard cries and anguished wails at all times of the day. He soon lost track of whether it was morning or evening. He had not seen one Ministry official, or even another human, since he entered the prison. Who the hell was running things?

The Dementors had taken his robes and wand upon arrival and if they had taken away Lily's necklace as well, Snape would have most certainly lost his mind those first few days. Whenever the prison became too much to bear, whenever his hunger pangs became intolerable, whenever the sight of a passing Dementor peering into his cell threatened to snap his fragile hold on his sanity, he began to twirl the necklace around his finger and think of her. Happy memories of them growing up, secretly spending time together at night, dreaming of Hogwarts and planning their futures as little kids.

But after a few days, the misery that clung to the prison walls began to seep into even his treasured memories, infecting his private thoughts. His memory house burned down as though a great fire had raged through it. His happy memories had melted, leaving only the ashes of despair and misery.

Snape was forced to keep reliving his most painful memory, repeating in his mind over and over again. It wasn't his fault, he had been mad and embarrassed. He hadn't meant to lash out. He hadn't meant to say it! It wasn't his fault! That night had been the start of his descent down a shadowy path…

* * *

…" _I'm sorry."_

" _I'm not interested."_

" _I'm sorry!"_

" _Save your breath."_

_It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower._

" _I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."_

" _I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just —"_

" _Slipped out?" There was no pity in Lily's voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends — you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"_

_He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking._

" _I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."_

" _No — listen, I didn't mean —"_

"— _to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"_

_He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole…_

…Severus stared in silent fury at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was giving him a stern, reproachful look.

"Oh, shove off fatso," Severus spat as he whirled around and stalked off to the school dungeons.

By the time he reached the Slytherin common room Severus' anger towards James and Sirius and Lily had dissipated and landed directly onto himself. Snape was full of self-loathing by the time he paused in front of a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"Emerald Green."

A stone door concealed in the wall slid open and Snape stomped through. The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece, and several high-backed leather chairs were scattered around it. Various shades of green and silver covered the table tops and chairs. Ornate marble statues of famous Slytherin wizards were standing guard in the corners. The stone walls were home to oil paintings depicting famous events in wizarding history, with a pure-blood focus of course. Everything in the room also seemed to have a serpentine twinge to it, an ever present image throughout the room.

Severus had planned to sneak off into the dormitory and settle in for a night of restless sleep, but slow clapping stopped him. He glanced up and saw that a small group of Slytherins had been waiting for him. Mulciber, Avery, and Malfoy were at the head of the group, almost beaming.

"Severus! We heard you fought with some Gryffindors and then called out that mudblood in front of a dozen students," cheered Avery.

"See I told you he was one of us!" chimed in Mulciber.

Severus pushed his way thought the congratulatory crowd and plopped down on a leather chair near a yawning fireplace. The rest of the crowd went back to talking amongst themselves, mudblood this and Gryffindor that floating over to Severus in snippets. Lucius Malfoy, the handsome ice statue, sat down in the chair across from Severus.

"How are you doing Severus?" Lucius gently asked.

"I'm fine, of course. Why?" scoffed Severus.

Lucius didn't immediately reply – instead he turned and looked at the other students in the common room. He didn't want to scare off the young Slytherin. Lucius Malfoy had been born into a very aristocratic pure blood wizarding family, a family with a large concentration of wealth and social status. Lucius had been taught that he came from pure stock and should always behave in a manner befitting of such heritage – and Lucius had done so. He had been made a prefect in his fifth year, scored highly in the majority of his classes and was even a member of the famous – or infamous, for success spawns jealousy – Slug Club.

Lucius wasn't an evil person; he just wanted what was best for the wizarding community as a whole. One's background was of utmost importance, and being of pureblood magical stock was paramount. Pure bloods had a duty to protect the interests of the wizarding world and had a rightful place at the head of the table. Yes, it was true that he happened to be of pure blood, but even if he hadn't been, he would have accepted the natural order of things, that pure bloods stand first.

There was a grassroots effort brewing that wanted to right the current upside down nature of the world. That wanted to subjugate the mudbloods and the muggle world, and restore pure-blood wizards to their rightful place. No, subjugate was too harsh a word – they wanted to place people where they belonged, the natural order of things must be reestablished. And the new leader of this movement was not some evil maniac as some were claiming. He had compassion, he was accepting; there would be opportunity for half-bloods to show their worth in this new world. But having wizards hiding in secret from the muggles?! Mixing pure-bloods and half-bloods with mudbloods?! This lunacy had to stop.

Plans were already in motion for Lucius to fully join this movement once he graduated. And one of his charges had been to nurture and recruit like-minded idealists from House Slytherin. Lucius continued to stare around the common room. Many here believed in the pure-blood cause, they would be willing foot soldiers for the cause. But this new Dark Lord did not need more peons, bringing him believers who were able to do little more than grunt work would not raise Lucius' profile in the coming new world order. The Malfoys had always run in the most elite social circles, had always been at the top of the food chain. With his father's health deteriorating, Lucius' hand would soon be guiding the future of the Malfoy line. The Dark Lord would soon be leading the world and Lucius intended to earn a place among His inner circle, ensuring the Malfoy's rightful place at the top with a new dawn rising.

If he could bring the Dark Lord some talented new followers, showcasing his persuasion and leadership skills, it would certainly accelerate his initiation. It had certainly worked for Narcissa's insufferable sister. Lucius had decided that Severus Snape would be his ticket to the Dark Lord's inner circle. The young lad had entered school with ratty robes and belongings that screamed poverty. He was sullen, moody and anti-social; he had been accepted by the other Slytherins, but had not forged any real friendships. And he certainly seemed to not give a damn about his appearance; he had simply been overlooked by the other student recruiters that were now in the Dark Lord's employ.

But Lucius could see through that highly unappealing exterior – Severus was brilliant, cunning and at times displayed flashes of true courage. He had been fighting a long running and well know grudge match between students in his year from the Gryffindor house. Lucius didn't bother with learning about all the hijinks, but the few stories that had come back to him were impressive. But Severus never leaned on his Slytherin brethren – he always preferred to operate alone. He showed no interest in fraternizing with his fellow Slytherins and Lucius sensed he had a deep, secret friendship with a Gryffindor.

But it now appeared as if Lucius' conclusions had been wrong. Severus had, very publicly, insulted the girl and basically announced his blood status beliefs to the whole school to hear. Lucius wanted to, as old fat Slughorn would say, "collect" the boy – the boy who tutored older students, knew more about the dark arts than some of the faculty, and had even shown the ability to invent original spells! Lucius would groom him for the movement, everyone needed a trusted lieutenant.

"Well you seem…down."

"Lucius I'm fine. Doesn't a prefect have more important things to worry about?"

"Looking out for other Slytherins is the important Severus."

"Stop bothering me, it's been a long night…why don't you pay Narcissa a visit?"

Lucius gripped the chair, his knuckles turning white. Cheeky bastard, bringing her up. I should knock the snot out of him right here, in front of everyone. But why raise to the bait, this kid didn't flinch at the threat of violence. Something else scared him…

"Severus what's bothering you? I just want to help."

"Leave me alone Lucius. What do you want from me?!"

The angry retort caused some glances to flitter their way, but Lucius waved his hand at the other students. Severus continued gazing at the hypnotic flames dancing in the fireplace.

"Exactly. What could I possibly want from you? Severus, everyone needs help. When I was younger, older students looked out for me and I'm just trying to return the favor. You can't keep fighting all your battles alone. Life's too short to fly solo. But I'm not here to force you to do or say anything."

"Really? Don't want me to join up with the pure-blood movement?"

"Severus, pure-bloods like us have to stick together. Especially in troubled climates such as this. Everyone thinks you're with us anyway, what's the harm in attending a meeting? Our message might resonate with you."

Severus squirmed in his chair when Lucius referred to him as a pure-blood. No one knew about his abusive muggle father, save for one person. And now, after his despicable behavior, who knows how long his secret would last. Another headache to worry about.

Lucius had to be patient. Don't press this one, let him come to you.

"Okay Severus, I just wanted to extend an offer of friendship. I know you prefer to do your own thing, but that's a lonely way to go through life," Lucius softly said as he got up. He then pointed to the common room exit. "The fight is out there, not in here with your brothers."

As he walked away Lucius muttered, "Who knows? She might even become impressed with the power and influence you gain joining us."

Severus derisively snorted in reply to Lucius' fading back. But this time the prefect's words leaked in and took hold. Constantly fighting outnumbered was getting tiresome – strength in numbers and all that. The rest of the houses and many of the faculty did seem prejudiced against Slytherin. It would be nice to be included more when the others did things. And maybe she would be impressed. Lily would be forced to take notice if others started to respect or even fear him.

* * *

Severus had been waiting in a corner of courtyard for almost thirty minutes, where was she? He was ashamed to admit it, but he had been behaving like a stalker lately and knew Lily's schedule almost by heart. She normally walked this way after lunch, headed out around the school grounds. Severus never knew where she went, maybe for a walk around the forbidden forest, maybe to meet that oaf Hagrid…maybe she had found a new best friend.

Lost in his gloomy thoughts, Severus almost missed the flowing red hair passing by his dark corner.

"Lily! Oiy – hey Lily! Over here!"

Lily turned around, her patented grin slowly slide off her face – replaced by a look of disgust. She turned back around and continued off. Severus gathered his books and headed after her.

"Lily…please…hold up," Severus panted. "I said stop!"

Lilly wheeled around, ready for fight.

"You said what!?"

"I…I just wanted to talk."

"Can't you take a hint? Notice I've been ignoring your messages and notes. I don't make time for people like you."

"Lily!" Severus grabbed her arm, spun Lily around to face him. "Just like that?!"

Lily wrestled her arm free and glared at him.

"Just like that? You've been flirting with the dark arts since we got here. And now things are getting serious, it's not fun and games anymore. People are being hurt – killed, by wizards you're friends associate with, wizards you associate with."

"I don't associate with murderers, how can you say that Lily!" Severus' temper was rising, he could feel himself losing control. "All of this drama because of that damn Potter! Look I'm so sorry for using that word Lily, I truly am! I was embarrassed and hurt – humiliated once again in front of all those students. I lashed out at you without thinking!"

"Severus, please, I'm not interested –"

"Have you ever been in such a situation Lily? Everyone laughing at you? Knowing deep down if it was a fair fight you would win, but no one believing you? I was so angry I wasn't thinking. I wanted to seem tough, can't you understand? Hanging there, with my robes half falling off. No one helping, just watching in amusement, cheering even!"

"Everyone was not cheering Severus. My friends all thought it was a despicable display!"

"C'mon Lily, they were laughing. You were the only one who said anything on my behalf."

"And you repaid me with that filthy word! You're a coward!"

"Lily I didn't mean…it is all Potter's fault. Can't you see that? This is what he wanted!"

"What the hell does James Potter have to do with anything? Why are you so obsessed with him?"

"He caused all this…He wants to be…He wants you!"

"Severus, do you believe that I don't want to see you anymore because of James Potter? Or because you used that racist term, that I have dirty blood?" Lily grabbed Severus' shoulders – he had been twitching with anger and adrenaline – and looked him dead in the eye. "We have been traveling down different paths for a while now. And the path you are choosing – I just cannot follow. Do you understand Sev?"

"What path? I just hang out with them because I have to. They're in my house, what choice do I have? Would you prefer it if I had no friends? Unwanted by the other houses, ostracized within my own?"

"Severus, who was the one who always wanted to meet in secret? Who was the one worried about what others thought of us spending time together?"

"I was doing it for you, I wanted you to be safe and not have to be bothered by being my friend." The words rushed out of Severus like a torrent, he was nearly in tears.

Lily took a deep breath.

"Look at me Severus, stop looking away."

Severus stared deep into the emerald pools, reminding him of the Slytherin green that dotted the walls of his dormitory.

"Change your behavior, change your friends, before it's too late. Not for me Severus, for your own sake. You're a good person, but the path you're walking will not end well. This is not you are."

"But Lily, life is messy, life is complicated. It's not black and white."

Lily shook her head, eyes beginning to mist. It was that simple, there was no grey area when pure evil and racism was involved. It was hard saying goodbye to someone she had been so close to for so long. He had been a brother, a best friend. Introduced her to a whole new world. But everyone had to be responsible for their actions. It was something she had to do, but it hurt. Letting go of something you hold dear, but know deep down is not healthy for you.

"But it is…Goodbye Sev."

Severus opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.

He watched her go, silently begging to the heavens to have her turn around and ask his forgiveness. What did she expect from him? To start hanging out at the Gryffindor table? Become best buddies with the four amigos?

Remorse and regret over his choices did not fill Severus' heart, instead resentment roared within his belly. An angry monster was created. Staring at Lily's back twisted him with angry frustration. Goddamn that arrogant Potter. Goddamn that instigator Black. Goddamn that prejudiced Dumbledore, protecting them at every turn. Severus felt like he was becoming wrath incarnate. Misguided anger would guide his actions for the next few years…

* * *

…Snape woke up in a cold sweat. Where was he? The freezing air and anguished moans instantly reminded him. Trapped in a stone cage, trapped in his tortured mind. Having to relieve over and over again the fact that he chose the wrong path. I was just a teenager! How could I have known! Please!

But there was no mercy, no respite to be found in this stone hell. He watched a dark shadow pass by his cell, but the Dementor did not keep floating on. The shadow stopped in front of his cell, stared hard in his direction. The cell bars magically bent open, and the shadow stepped through.

Snape struggled up into a sitting position against the cold stone wall. Closing his eyes, his yellowish teeth shown through a small smile tracing his lips. He welcomed the Dementor's kiss.


	17. The Other Boy Who Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville carries scars similar to Harry's.

A snowy phoenix was gliding through a dark stone hallway. It was a white, luminous bird – made of vapors and whispers – that was illuminating the black, shadowy passageway. The phoenix twisted and turned, kissing the stone ceiling, floating down to the floor and then rising back up again. The magnificent bird threw off of a pulsing white light that shone into even the darkest corners, chasing away the shadows. It finally pushed through a large metal and stone gate and dissipated into an early morning mist.

In the gleaming wake of the fading white phoenix strode Albus Dumbledore. His bright blue and purple stripped robe clashed fiercely with the dark gothic exterior of the prison. Behind him slowly followed Alastor Moody, half dragging a sickly looking wizard. The wizard had pale skin, sunken cheeks and feeble breath. The haunted look in his vacant eyes was a tell-tale sign that many other previous occupants of Azkaban carried. Dumbledore stared out across the North Sea, the impatience in his eyes slowly turning to anger as he continued to search the sky for the Ministry promised aircraft.

Dumbledore glanced back at the veteran Auror and frail young man hanging limply beside him. Moody did not understand why he had to help rescue a Death Eater from this island fortress, but had grudgingly decided to help. Dumbledore was always so…persuasive. But an Order member had gone missing and time was of the essence; they didn't have the luxury for these little side missions.

Dumbledore shook his head; the Ministry just could not be counted on. Was it any wonder why he had decided to establish the Order?

Azkaban had many magical security enchantments in place, one of which was the ability to prevent unauthorized access to the island. These enchantments prevented countless modes of transportation including apparition, portkeys, thestrals, brooms, carpets and even the floo network. The island itself was unplottable. Only Ministry approved aircrafts or ships were allowed to dock within the island grounds. These enchantments had been created and put in place by highly trained wizards within the Ministry's employ; much too powerful to be bypassed, even by an exceedingly skilled wizard.

"Come to me Alastor. The plane won't be coming."

"If the Minister said he sent it, it's coming. Your little pet can wait for a little longer."

"I have other matters to attend to – Frank's gone missing as you know. If you will please give me Severus, I shall be off. You can wait here for the plane. Please thank the pilot for me, I appreciate him making the trip out here on such short notice."

Alastor quickly glanced back at the prison walls, shadows gliding in and out of the windows.

"I really don't think we should split up."

"Come now Alastor, like you said, I'm sure the Minister will keep his word. But unfortunately I'm in a rush."

Alastor must have had more faith in Dumbledore than in the current Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, because he eventually reached out and took Dumbledore's hand.

And for the second time that morning, Dumbledore did something that was supposed to be impossible. He apparated from within the Azkaban grounds.

* * *

Alice Longbottom was a nervous wreck. There had been no word from her husband Frank for almost two days now. He had disappeared during a huge celebratory dinner the Order had been hosting. Alice figured he had gotten lost amongst the throng of revelers – he had never been a big drinker, so maybe the alcohol had caused him to retire early. Sleep it off somewhere. But that excuse rang hollow, no matter how times she told it to herself. Frank would never behave in such a manor.

And he had never gone this long without speaking with her. In fact, Alice and Frank had always spoken to each other every day for the past fifteen years. They had been childhood friends, growing up right next door to each other. They both came from respected pure-blood families, were born within a month of each other – they even looked alike. At Hogwarts, people kept confusing them for siblings – twins even. Some people in life were lucky enough to meet their soulmate early in life, marry their best friend. The Longbottoms had such luck. Popular among their friends, always willing to lend a helping hand, a room was a brighter place when they entered. They had been blessed the year before with a beautiful healthy son, the Dark Lord had fallen – the future seemed bright for this dynamic couple.

But Alice knew something was wrong, deep down in her bones. Frank would never stay out of contact this long, even if he had been traveling half way across the world. Not just to talk with her, he loved saying good night to his little boy. Dumbledore had told her to stay put while he sorted things out – these were still dangerous times, no matter what the Ministry said. The Death Eaters had suddenly lost their leader; they would be angry and violent, lashing out whenever they could. Vicious splinter cells would be forming, fracturing off from the main movement, dangerous and unpredictable

Dumbledore had warned the Order of brazen revenge attempts by lone wolves, urged them to be patient and safe. But Alice was an intelligent, brave – a woman full of life and boundless energy. She was done sitting at home, no matter what Dumbledore said. It wasn't someone he loved that was missing, it was easy for him to be so blasé about it. Dumbledore would later regret trying to force her to stay home while a loved one was in missing and in danger – a mistake he would repeat years later with another Order member.

Alice sent off an owl to her mother-in-law, informing her that little Neville needed to be watched over, and then began packing her Auror kit. Within minutes she was ready and headed out her door, happy Neville in tow.

"Be a brave boy for me tonight, and say a little prayer," Alice whispered to her son. "I promise I'm going to find out where Daddy is."

Gosh he looked just like a mini Frank…such precious eyes…precocious child…I don't know what I'd do if Frank was hurt…Why didn't I keep an eye on him at the party?

Alice stood on her front porch, guard down, lost in worry for just a few seconds. She never noticed two bushes in her front yard slowly moving towards her, shifting in and out of the shadows. In a few moments Alice was going to keep her promise to Neville, she was about to find out where her husband was.

* * *

Alice slowly opened her eyes, groggy and with a dull pain throughout her body. Her hands and feet were bound with thick rope. Her head was bouncing gently along the floor of a deserted hallway – she was being magically dragged behind two men. They were tall and skinny, each wearing dark hooded robes. One wore a mask of fire, the other a mask of swirling green smoke.

"Are we sure they know?" Rabastan asked.

"They must…you doubt it? You think He fell to a child!?" Barty spat back.

"No…no…of course not."

"Can't handle the work that needs to be done? Knew you had a weak stomach!"

"Shut your insolent mouth. Know your place Crouch, I was one of His first followers. My loyalty is beyond reproach. I come from pure, loyal stock. You on the other hand…"

"I am His most loyal follower! I stand apart from my father!"

Their bickering died down as they walked through a doorway and into a large, cavernous room. It was the factory floor to a long ago abandoned radio factory, a casualty of the inevitable march of technology. In the corner of the deserted factory floor, was a large wooden cross. Strung up high on the wooden beams was a battered wizard, his head hanging limply. He was muttering gibberish, an unintelligible language only he knew.

Standing below him, at the foot of the cross, was a bored looking wizard and witch. They were both pure-blood and came from well-respected, upstanding wizarding families. They had been married for ten years and by all outward appearances had a happy, productive marriage with each other. But Bellatrix's eternal love and true loyalty lay with another man. And Rodolphus had always been more concerned about his appearance, consolidating his family's wealth and, rumor had it, young boys. Despite the fact that their ultimate allegiances were not to each other, they got along quite well – a dark, twisted, yet successful partnership. And the one thing that they both agreed on completely was the supremacy of pure-blood wizards.

Rabastan Lestrange and Barty Crouch were twenty feet away from the married couple when they stopped and stood apart.

"We come bearing gifts!" yelled Barty, as he flicked his wand forward.

Alice Longbottom slid forward on the dusty floor as if pulled by an invisible rope. She slammed into the base of the cross, still groggy and unsure of her surroundings.

"Where the hell have you been?" snapped Bellatrix.

Rabastan answered by falling into step alongside his brother, but the young impetuous Barty Crouch didn't cower away.

"Fetching the bitch, instead of staying here and babysitting a zombie."

"What did you say?"

"You deaf Bellatrix? I said we were out doing a man's work, while you were playing wet nurse!"

"The Dark Lord is missing and already you're forgetting your place!" Bellatrix threw off her cloak and waved her hand across her face, her ice blue mask vanishing. Her wand flashed in her other hand, pointed directly at Barty. The bellicose Death Eater held his ground, eyeing the angry witch's wand.

Barty smiled wide. "Do it then!"

"Bellatrix that's enough," said Rodolphus as he stepped in between the two Death Eaters.

"Get out of the way you fool!" she spat.

Rodolphus did not answer her or meet her gaze, but he didn't move aside either. Bellatrix was breathing heavily, full of seething rage, they all were. The last two nights of continuous torture had yielded no results, and tempers were short. Bellatrix looked around and focused her rage on the only other woman in the room. She walked over to Alice and sliced off her bonds, leaned down and whispered…"Say hello."

Bellatrix stepped back and walked towards the other three Death Eaters. She casually flicked her wand behind her as she walked. The clasps holding Frank up on the cross glimmered bright and then disappeared. He fell towards the floor and smashed into his wife. Alice screamed in pain and pushed off the body on top of her. She tried standing, but was too weak and fell to a knee. She took a breath and glanced over to the group of Death Eaters.

"Where am I?" Alice gasped. "Where's Neville?" Her voice echoed all across the factory floor, silence the only reply. She slowly turned around and glanced at the man slumped on the ground behind her. He looked familiar…

"Where's my son?!"

Rabastan reached into his robes and pulled out a small bundle wrapped within velvet folds. The small child was sleeping comfortably, swaddled in the warm cloth. Alice started towards them, reaching out with her hands.

"Give him to me!" Alice screamed with a mother's passion. Her first and only child in the arms of an animal was too much to bear.

Bellatrix lazily flicked her wand and Alice was smacked by an invisible hand. She was thrown back and landed next to the body lying at the base of the cross, her headed bouncing horribly off the wood. Alice was exhausted and afraid, she could feel warm blood leaking down her back. Why hadn't I stayed at home? How could I have put my baby at risk?

She looked down at the broken body next to her. Another poor soul the Death Eaters had claimed. She touched his face, it felt…familiar. She brushed the man's hair across his face. No, it couldn't be, no…please God no.

The factory floor was filled with a horrific scream.

* * *

Glenn Townsend was late again for dinner, the missus was not going to be pleased. He had only meant to stop off for a quick pint with the lads, but one drink soon turned into four. He knew it was wrong to drink and drive, but who could be bothered to wait in the cold for a cab? Oh, come on, that was a shitty excuse, he just didn't want to leave his car overnight at the dodgy pub. And I ain't no nancy, could hold my liquor better than most of the slobs at the pub.

Plus I'm driving the long way home, past the old radio factory. That area was deserted, no other cars ever came that way. Creepy looking building, that old factory. The mayor keeps threatening to tear it down and build a new shopping center. He should, the damn factory was an eyesore, driving down property values.

A red streak flashed across the road and Glenn swerved the car to avoid it, spinning out onto the shoulder. Jesus, what was that? A comet? God, I'm seeing things. Glenn stepped off the brake and put the car back in drive – he promised himself that he would stop drinking so much…at least during the week.

Fawkes swooped low toward the towering old factory and landed on a thick branch of a large oak tree standing out front of it. His gleaming red feathers were streaked with magnificent gold, his eyes shone with intelligence. The long forgotten factory yard hadn't seen something so beautiful visit it in a long time.

Fawkes settled in on the branch and sat there, staring intently at the factory. He then shook his head, shivering, trembling, glowing a deep dark crimson red. He stretched his great big wings, and floated off the branch. Fawkes soared sky high and began circling the factory, round and round. Faster and faster. When Fawkes became a blinding red blur, there was a flash of fire and he was gone. A single red feather was the only single trace that he had ever been there, slowly floating down to Earth.

The second the feather hit the ground, five streaks of silver white flashed down from the sky. Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the factory, Alastor Moody and Dedalus Diggle to his right, Emmeline Vance and Remus Lupin to his left. The Order had arrived.

"Let's go," growled Moody. His wand was already at the ready and he wanted to charge in.

The rest of the Order members made to follow, but Dumbledore raised a hand of warning.

"Not so fast," Dumbledore calmly said. "We don't want to be rushing in just yet."

"The Longbottoms are in there Albus! We don't have time for tact," Moody urged.

"Yes I agree. Time is of the essence," concurred Diggle.

Moody and Diggle walked towards the factory, Dumbledore and his calm demeanor be damned.

"Take a few more steps and off goes the caterwauling charm. I wonder if Bellatrix will keep any prisoners alive when it goes off."

Dumbledore's words froze the men and they slowly backed away, lining up behind their leader. Dumbledore coolly stared out across the vacant yard in front of the factory. He was always so frustratingly composed, even on the very precipice of danger. The rest of the Order was getting restless, their friends were in there! What the hell as Dumbledore looking at? Beneath his nonchalant demeanor, Dumbledore's mind was a furious whirlwind of activity. He seemed to finally find what he had been searching for. He raised his wand, waved it around and muttered something under his breath.

A blueish mist slowly rose from the factory yard and soundlessly dissipated. Dumbledore then strode towards the factory with the rest of the Order falling in step behind him. Dumbledore stopped in front of a metal door, surveying it with interest.

"Well, what now? Another alarm?" asked Lupin.

"Not quite," answered Dumbledore. He stared hard at the door. "I must say, this is very interesting. Quite clever actually."

"It's a revolver, isn't it?" growled Moody.

Dumbledore nodded his head

"And what the hell is that?" asked Vance.

Moody looked towards Dumbledore, but the headmaster was more interested in running his hands over the door than giving a magic lesson.

"Only one wizard can go through the door at a time and each time it leads to a random place inside the building," replied Moody.

"Yes, that's correct," agreed Dumbledore. "We're all going to be separated, entering into arbitrary places within the warehouse. Be on your guard, don't trust anything you see in there. Saw Fawkes if you have to identify yourself to each other. Constant vigilance, right Alastor?"

Before Moody could reply, Dumbledore calmly opened the metal door and walked through.

* * *

"Crucio!"

"Where is he?!"

"Crucio!"

"Where have you taken Him?!"

"Crucio!"

Stream after stream of red light shot into Alice's body, wracking her with unimaginable pain. It had been over four straight hours of a steady diet of the cruciatus curse, and it had even become unbearable for some of the Death Eaters to endure. The Lestrange brothers were sitting off to the side watching the torture unfold – Bellatrix and Barty had plenty of evil stamina for them all. Frank was slumped in a corner, his brain addled and cracked. Neville had been placed by his father, bundled up in blankets. The baby had tears streaming down its face, its mouth opening and closing in cries, yet no sounds were emanating from the little boy.

"Maybe it's true then, maybe they don't know?" said Rabastan.

"The Dark Lord fell to a child?" replied Rodolphus.

"I don't know what happened, but these people don't know. No one stays quiet for this long!"

"So what do you propose we do? Let them go?"

Alice's renewed screams brought their eyes back up to her. She was hanging from the cross, in a twisted crucifixion pose. Her arms were bent at unnatural angles, torn clothes draped her body, blood slowly dripping down her chest. With each stream of red light her body tensed up in agony, her hoarse voice pleading for a respite. Bellatrix and Barty felt nothing, not a drop of remorse, even as they began to realize the Auror did not have any information on their Lord's whereabouts. If anything, the knowledge that Alice knew nothing angered them even more.

"Stop. Barty, I said stop!" screamed Bellatrix.

"Why? She deserves it. Filthy traitor to the pure-blood cause."

"Alice, hey Alice. Wakey-wakey." Bellatrix walked up the cross, swaying to avoid the dripping blood. She pointed her wand at the hanging Auror. "Aguamenti." A stream of water doused the Auror, but she was too far gone to truly waken from her pain stupor. Alice raised her eyes to meet Bellatrix's gaze, but there was no recognition there.

"Does the water feel good?" teased Barty.

"Alice, tell us where He is…." Bellatrix's eyes flicked towards Frank and Neville. "Tell us Alice!"

Bellatrix suddenly became hysterical – waving her wand threateningly at Neville.

"Or your son will take your place!"

Barty licked his lips in hungry anticipation, smiling gleefully, a hyena about to get a treat. Rabastan and Rodolphus looked at each and slowly got to their feet. Not to protect the child, but rather to get out of Bellatrix's way. Collateral damage was not something she gave much consideration to.

"Give me the child Rodolphus," Bellatrix yelled. She held her arms out. "Rabastan? Come on!"

The brothers stood rooted to where they were. Not shielding the small boy, but not quite ready to actively help harm him either.

"They don't got the stomach for it," sneered Barty.

"Accio child!" yelled Bellatrix. "Accio Neville!"

Everyone seemed to tense up, expecting the child to careen towards Bellatrix. However, nothing happened. The silence was punctuated by Alice's anguished sobs. Not for the imminent danger her child was now in, but due to the throbbing pain – for her mind was too far gone to comprehend anything…ever again.

"Accio! Accio child!" Spittle began flying out of Bellatrix's mouth, a deep rage enveloped her. "ACCIO!"

"Come now Bellatrix, summoning charms don't work on living things. My teachers taught you better than that," said a calm voice.

The four Death Eaters whirled around, panic ablaze in their faces. Automatically, unconsciously, masks appeared on their faces. They shed their robes, revealing tight fitting and light armor underneath. Their wands at the ready, though unsteady, at the unexpected sight of Dumbledore.

"My, my, haven't you four been busy." Dumbledore's voice was light, but spying Alice hanging on the cross…his demeanor hardened. He shed his robe, revealing close-fitting, silver plated vest and pants – magical armor.

"How did he get in here?"

"You shouldn't have come alone!"

"Take another step and we'll kill the child!"

Frank, Alice and Neville disappeared, reappearing behind Dumbledore at the far end of the factory – the large wooden cross now lying on the floor in front of them.

"You will not touch them anymore," said the angry headmaster. "Not tonight. Not ever."

"Enough!" screamed Bellatrix. "Take him!"

The four Death Eaters sprinted away from each other, four moving and attacking targets. Bellatrix and Barty moved towards their left, firing off spells towards the broken Longbottom family. Dumbledore ignored them, shifted to his left, focusing on the Lestrange brothers. Before the sadistic Death Eater spells could wreak havoc on the shattered family, the cross sprang to life. The wooden stickman stood before the family, absorbing the spells, wooden splinters flying everywhere.

Rabastan fired a spell towards Dumbledore, a red jet of light turning into a metallic spear. Dumbledore flicked his hand, and the spear dropped uselessly to the ground. Rodolphus brandished his wand like a whip – a spiked rope sprang from its tip. He twirled it over his head and cracked it down, towards the advancing Dumbledore. The spiked rope whipped through the air and slammed into the Dumbledore…no, rather, it went through him, as though he were a ghost. The rope shattered against the factory floor, splitting apart at the seams. Dumbledore kept advancing on the brothers, who were now stumbling backwards, fearful.

Bellatrix broke off from advancing on the Longbottoms and headed towards her husband. Barty kept racing towards the family, crazy yells coming from him. He continued firing spells that the wooden stick man kept absorbing, holes ripping throughout its wooden frame.

"Avada Kedvra!" screamed Barty.

The wooden stickman slapped down the spell, its right arm blown apart. It hopped in the air and slammed down onto Barty, pinning him to the floor, Barty's wand harmlessly clattering to the ground.

On the other side of the factory floor, Dumbledore was towering over the bloodied Lestrange brothers, their arms and legs lashed together by a silver rope. Behind Dumbledore came Bellatrix, a long knife in one hand, her wand in the other. She flung the knife at his back, waving her wand at her husband with her other hand.

Dumbledore spun away at the last moment, somehow sensing the flying knife. His concentration broken, the silver rope went slack, loosening its grip on the brothers. Rodolphus rolled away and up, wand at the ready. Rabastan pushed the now limp ropes off him and stood up – the twirling knife slammed into his chest, knocking him back down.

Bellatrix continued forward – "Incarcerous!" – thick ropes shot forward at Dumbledore. Rodophus clapped his hands together and screamed – fire shot forward from his wand like a missile.

Dumbledore moved with the speed of a younger man. He raised his left hand at the thick ropes and waved them aside. The ropes altered their direction and absorbed the fire missile. In a whirl he vanished, appeared behind Rodolphus, grabbed the Death Eater by his neck and flung him to the ground. As he stepped over Rodolphus he muttered, "Stay down", and flicked his wand at the fallen man. Rodolphus tried to get back up but froze, a statue trapped in an unheard scream.

Dumbledore now advanced on Bellatrix, who was frantically backpedalling, firing of spells indiscriminatingly. She looked around, searching for an escape – Barty was howling in fury, trapped under the wooden stickman – Rabastan wasn't stirring, a long knife protruding from his chest – Rodolphus was frozen to the cold factory floor.

Dumbledore was flicking away her spells with lazy flicks of the wand, advancing menacingly.

"Stay away from me!" she screamed, continuing to fire away. Her blocked spells were slamming into the walls and roof, tearing apart the factory room. Bellatrix pointed her wand at some copper pipes lying in a corner. They shot off towards Dumbledore, and Bellatrix turned around and ran towards the Longbottoms. I can use them as a shield!

She ran as hard as she could, sprinting, her legs screaming with fire…but she didn't seem to be moving. Her legs churning hard, running in place. She stopped sprinting, and slowly turned around. Dumbledore was standing right behind her, so close she could see the pores on his sweating face, the ridges on his crooked nose, taste his angry breath. And then…Bellatrix's world went dark.


	18. The Lost Decade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore reminisces over the past ten years before the start of a very special school year.

Had it really been ten years? God, I feel old – feel it down in my very bones. Where does the time go?

An entire decade had passed since the Dark Lord had fallen on that fateful Hallows Eve, but Albus Dumbledore felt like that pure evil had been vanquished just yesterday. He was standing in his office, a few hours before the new school year's sorting ceremony and welcome feast. He always felt a curious mixture of nervousness and excitement before a new term, like a father anticipating the birth of a new child.

The office looked the same as it had for the past forty odd years – a large and beautiful circular room, its walls covered with self-portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses. Curious silver instruments littered the room, emitting puffs of smoke and funny little noises. A new school sorting marked the passing of another year, a fresh start for all. Dumbledore felt very sentimental during the start of each school year and he found himself yearning to reminisce. He walked over to a tall wooden cabinet with a large glass door. Inside were shelves stock full of glass vials, and each vial contained swirling white mist – memories, some long forgotten and some as fresh as yesterday.

Dumbledore had lived for so long, had traveled so far, and had experienced so much; he had developed a curious problem. His mind could not hold all of his important memories clearly. He needed the ability to re-experience and access his memories at a moment's notice. He had also acquired interesting memories from others during his adventures and needed the ability to recall them whenever he chose. Dumbledore bent low and reached for something on the lowest shelf of the cabinet.

He removed a wide and shallow dish made of gleaming silver rock and placed it on his large oak desk. The stone dish had ancient runes lining its sides that glowed at random intervals. The pensieve was a rare item, and many wizards were afraid to use one. It was a dangerous business, prying into memories. The pensieve allowed a wizard to re-live a memory, recreating every detail that had been stored in one's subconscious. The recreated memory could include details that the wizard himself may not have even remembered experiencing. Removing a memory is a complicated bit of magic, especially if the wizard in question does not want it removed. Many instances of permanent brain or memory damage have occurred in association with using a pensieve.

Even more challenging than successfully removing and experiencing a memory, is to correctly sort through the latent ideas embedded within the memories. False conclusions or incorrect interpretations can lead to disastrous results. Much care and caution must be exercised when using a pensieve for, just like in the case of time-turners, horrible things have happened to wizards who meddle with the past.

According to ancient Pottermore legend, the Hogwarts Pensieve is made of ornately carved stone and engraved with modified Saxon runes, which mark it as an artefact of immense antiquity that pre-dates the creation of the school. One (unsubstantiated) legend insinuates that the founders discovered the Pensieve half-buried in the ground on the very spot where they decided to erect their school.

Dumbledore walked back to the cabinet, carefully selected a few vials and walked back to his desk. He dumped the contents of the vials into the pensieve, watching each of the silvery memories fall into the bowl. A swirling mist formed in the bowl – the mist was not quite gas, yet not quite liquid. Dumbledore then held his wand to his temple and pulled it away – a thin, white, gossamer strand came away from his head. It broke off from the temple, swinging slowly from his wand tip. He dipped it into the pensieve and stirred all the contents around.

While it was true that the start of a new school year always put Dumbledore in a reflective mood, this year he was a little more on edge than usual and wanted to experience some moments from the past decade to jog his memory. For later tonight a very special boy would be stepping onto the Hogwart's grounds for the first time. Even though Dumbledore had not personally spent time or had directly spoken to the child over the last ten years, the little boy was very near and dear to the Headmaster's heart.

The child had been living with part of his extended his family, but had subjected to treatment more akin to an animal than that owed to a familial relative. He had been ignored, mistreated and humiliated on a daily basis during his upbringing – his uncle and aunt had skirted very close to committing outright abuse on the poor boy.

Dumbledore had been keeping a watchful, but silent eye during his tough rearing. Even though the boy's treatment broke his heart, Dumbledore had never intervened on child's behalf. It was imperative the child was allowed to live with his Aunt, and he did not want to give her any chance to cast the child out. Dumbledore was very curious as to what was the child's true nature. Was he going to be well adjusted and friendly? Was he going to be afraid, unsure of himself? Or…would he exhibit the tendencies of another child, someone Dumbledore had taught many years ago, a boy who had made all the wrong choices…

Dumbledore's mind was going over the four possible outcomes of tonight's sorting as he took a deep breath, and leaned into the pensieve. He felt his feet leave the ground and had an unsettling feeling of falling…he could only see smoke, everything was swirling darkness…

* * *

…The room had been built deep underground and had the feel of a hidden dungeon lair. There was a dreary, unwelcoming air floating about the room – everything looked to be made of dark stone and rock. The walls had a spartan appearance; no pictures or decorations were adorning the walls. There was just serried rows of benches all around the circular room, rising in levels. In the sunken center, in clear view from anywhere along the benches, was a stone chair with heavy silver chains hanging from it. There must have been at least two hundred wizards and witches sitting among the benches, dressed in magnificent robes of all colors. Each color signified a rank or administrative level within the Wizengamot.

Seated on a raised dais in front of the solitary chair in the middle of the room was Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Sr. He was the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and had a reputation for being just as ruthless as the Death Eaters he prosecuted – he had recently pushed through a decree that allowed Aurors to use unforgiveable curses in the line of duty. He was the only wizard that was standing and was staring directly at a small door in the corner of the dungeon room.

This was Courtroom 10, located one floor below the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic headquarters, where the Wizengamot held its criminal proceedings. With the Dark Lord fallen, the ranks of the Death Eaters had slowly been crumbling – they were scattered and running scared. The Aurors had killed many of them, and captured even more. Quite a few of them had turned themselves in, seeking mercy or making excuses for their behavior. It had been difficult for the Wizengamot to sort through the lies and the subterfuge. Who had been under the imperious curse? Who had been physically forced to follow the Dark Lord? Who had been threatened or coerced into His employ?

Only official members of the Wizengamot and high ranking officials within the Ministry were allowed to be present at these trials. But sitting quietly on one of the benches high up in the room was Albus Dumbledore, in splendid magenta robes. He would soon become Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but at this moment he was not an actual member of the high court. Somehow the official rules never seemed to apply to the distinguished wizard. The Minister would never publicly admit it, but he leaned heavily on Dumbledore's advice and was secretly glad the Hogwarts Headmaster always made himself available to offer counsel. As far as the Minister was concerned Dumbledore could come and go as he pleased within the Ministry walls. The only reason he had been elected to the post of Minister was because Dumbledore had turned down the position after repeated calls for his appointment – why would someone want to run a school when they could hold the most powerful magical position in Great Britain?

The door to the dungeon room opened and two Dementors glided in. The tall hooded creatures floated slowly towards the chair in the middle of the room – shaking in between them was a tall, rail-thin man. Each Dementor had ahold of one of the man's arms, grasping him roughly with their dead, rotting hands.

The man was dressed in frayed grey robes and looked as if he could faint at any moment. The watching crowd flinched in fear from the approaching creatures, the air becoming silent and cold. Igor Karkaroff sat down in the stone chair, shivering as if he had just stepped out of an ice bath. The chains on the arms of the chair suddenly glowed gold and snaked their way up his arms, magically binding him. The chains pulsed, squeezing him over and over, pythons trying to choke off their prey…

…" _Igor Karkaroff, you have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."_

_Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair. "I have, sir. I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I – I know that the Ministry is trying to – round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can…"_

_There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced mistrust._

" _Filth," came Moody's growling voice from Dumbledore's left. "Crouch is going to let him out. He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors." Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose._

" _Ah, I was forgetting . . . you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?" said Moody with a sardonic smile._

" _No," said Dumbledore calmly, "I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."_

" _But for filth like this . . ." Moody said softly._

" _You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," said Mr. Crouch. "Let us hear them, please."_

" _You must understand," said Karkaroff hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy. . . .He preferred that we – I mean to say, his supporters – and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them –"_

" _Get on with it," sneered Moody._

"– _we never knew the names of every one of our fellows – He alone knew exactly who we all were –"_

" _Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in," muttered Moody._

" _Yet you say you have some names for us?" said Mr. Crouch._

" _I – I do," said Karkaroff breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely –"_

" _These names are?" said Mr. Crouch sharply._

_Karkaroff drew a deep breath. "There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I – I saw him torture countless Muggles and – and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."_

" _And helped him do it," murmured Moody._

" _We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after yourself."_

" _Indeed?" said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. "I – I am delighted to hear it!" But he didn't look it. One of his names was worthless._

" _Any others?" said Crouch coldly._

" _Why, yes . . . there was Rosier," said Karkaroff hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."_

" _Rosier is dead," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."_

" _Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody, indicating the large chunk missing out of his nose to Dumbledore._

" _No – no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. Karkaroff was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting._

" _Any more?" said Crouch._

" _Yes!" said Karkaroff. "There was Travers – he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber – he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"_

_The watching crowd was all murmuring together._

" _Rookwood?" said Mr. Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"_

" _The very same," said Karkaroff eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information –"_

" _But Travers and Mulciber we have," said Mr. Crouch. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide –"_

" _Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"_

_Karkaroff was sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard._

" _Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"…_

* * *

…Dumbledore was standing in a lavishly furnished Ministry office arguing with Barty Crouch. Sitting behind a large, ornate desk was the current Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, half listening to the two wizards' back and forth. He was more interested in reading that day's Daily Prophet that was sitting on his lap – the English national team had just resoundingly beaten the Spanish squad in a Quidditch World Cup qualifying match and he had missed the telecast. With the Dark Lord fallen, life was comfortable again for the Minister. Let my underlings worry about the Death Eater roundup, I deserve some relaxation and rest.

Seated around the room was Cornelius Fudge, a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes, and Rufus Scrimgeour, a top lieutenant within the Auror division. They were both highly talented wizards – Fudge would eventually succeed Millicent as Minister of Magic and during the Second Wizarding War when Fudge was sacked, Scrimgeour would replace him. They were both listening intently to the unusual argument – the Head of the Order speaking on behalf of a convicted Death Eater.

"He has the mark, is a known associate of convicted Death Eaters and was at the scene of a brutal assassination. It's a rather cut and dry case," Crouch loudly exclaimed.

"He was at the scene of Peter Pettigrew's murder on my orders," calmly replied Dumbledore.

"On your orders? How did you know Pettigrew was to be killed? Why did you not share this information with us? The Ministry is the proper authority to handle such situations."

"I was unaware Sirius Black intended to commit further murder and treachery. I asked Severus to track down Black and bring him to me. Pettigrew, overcome with grief over the death of his best friends no doubt, also tracked down Black to seek vengeance. I am shocked, to be honest, as the boy never struck me as very courageous. But he showed true gumption in tracking down…"

"I'm not interested in your opinion of poor Pettigrew! Does your recklessness know no bounds? Sending a Death Eater to track down his brethren, instead of alerting the Auror Office? Innocent people died that day Albus!"

Dumbledore glanced around the rooms for some support, but the Minister was engrossed in his paper and the other two Ministry officials seemed to be in accord with their colleague. He was beginning to bristle with indignation, losing his trademark aplomb.

"Bartemius, are you suggesting I am to blame for that horrible massacre? That I am not committed to our cause?"

"You're not an Auror Albus! We've gotten wind that you're running your own rogue organization. Received reports that you've been fighting your own little war. You're not a Ministry employee!"

"Exactly!" thundered Dumbledore.

His exclamation caused Millicent to drop his paper and look up in surprise. The Headmaster rarely raised his voice, if ever. Dumbledore turned to the Minister, exasperation written across his brow. His good nature and patience had finally reached a breaking point.

"Millicent, Severus Snape turned from the dark side almost a year ago and turned spy for me. He has been feeding me reliable information on the Dark Lord and his followers for months – information which I passed on to you, and which has saved countless innocent lives, as you well know. He has risked death time and again for me and on behalf of your office. He is no more a Death Eater than I am."

"Yes, yes, I know," replied Millicent, who had shrunk back in his seat. A fearful student in front of an angry teacher.

"Then please explain to your guard dog that there are things of which he is unaware, that only you and I know."

"Such as?" demanded Crouch. "How am I to effectively perform my job if important facts are withheld from me?"

"For example, do you know where the Head of your Auror Office is?" asked Dumbledore, staring at Crouch as one would an irksome fly.

"No."

"He is downstairs processing four Death Eaters that I delivered earlier today. I think you'll find they were the culprits behind the Longbottom disappearance."

This startling news stunned everyone in the room; the fate of the Longbottoms had been a top priority for the Ministry.

"What…but…how?" asked Crouch.

"I think your time would be better spent preparing for Karkaroff's hearing later today, rather than questioning me. Now if you'll excuse us, I have important things to discuss with the Minister."

Dumbledore held out his arm towards the door, effectively dismissing three top Ministry officials. Crouch looked towards the Minister who quickly nodded, and so he headed out of the office, Fudge and Scrimgeour close on his heels. Like three chastised school children, off they went…

* * *

…Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were walking along the school grounds of Hogwarts, near the edge of the Great Lake. Dumbledore was walking confidently, head high, his splendid blue robes billowing behind him. Snape kept pace but was a step behind, drab black robes clinging to his slight frame.

"You've been remanded into my custody Severus. As such, you must stay here. Honestly, I don't see what the problem is."

"I don't want to be around people."

"Would you rather spend time in Azkaban…again?"

"Yes…I deserve…no less…"

"What use would you be to me, rotting in there alone?"

"So I'm to be your slave from now on?"

Dumbledore stopped walking and looked questioningly at his charge. "Severus, you once gave me your word…"

"In exchange for her life!"

"You very well know I did everything in my power to keep Lily safe."

Snape gave a small sniffle as a response, so Dumbledore went on. "The one thing she loved most in this world will eventually be in terrible danger. If you truly cared for the girl, you will help me protect him. Now, Slughorn has been considering retirement for some time and..."

"I told you already, I'm much better suited for the Dark Arts curriculum."

"And trust me when I tell you, you wouldn't last one year in that post…"

* * *

…Dumbledore and Snape sat in front of the large granite fireplace that graced the Slytherin common room. It was approaching midnight, and the flickering fire was throwing shadows across the room –the only students left were dozing in various green leather armchairs. Dumbledore wore a tired, yet bemused expression on his face as he stoked the glowing fire. Snape was red in the face, struggling to get his point across.

"You know, I should really speak to Horace about the ambiance down here. Downright spooky if you ask me," Dumbledore said half to Snape and half to himself.

"I sit in the corner, am shown absolutely zero respect. He has me scrubbing cauldrons and stocking the storeroom the majority of the time."

"There's hardly any light down here. It could be affecting the mood of the students."

"There were never any 'teaching assistants' when I studied here. Is that even a real position? For God's sake, the prefects have more authority than I do."

"And it's always so frosty down here, I'm cold even sitting right next to this roaring fire."

"The students walk all over me, never heeding _my_ instructions. I'm twice the potions master the slug is!"

Dumbledore slowly stood up and clumsily patted Snape on the head. "Sounds terrific Severus, sounds like you're finally settling in. Till next week then?" Dumbledore waved his wand as he left the Slytherin common room, warming the air behind him and leaving an exasperated Snape in his wake…

* * *

…Dumbledore walked down a long hallway in the Hogwart's dungeons and stopped outside a busy classroom. He quietly peered in to observe a 6th year potions class in session. Twenty students sat around the room, hot cauldrons steaming in front of each of them. A large, fat man in splendid green robes was walking around the room in a haphazard way, droning on and on about the finicky nature of the Draught of Living Death and the correct order for adding ingredients to the potion. He had prominent eyes, a silver, walrus-like mustache, and a tuft of thinning brown hair.

But the majority of the students were not hanging on Horace Slughorn's every word, rather, they were slyly watching a skinny young man in the corner of the room prepare his brew. He was just a few years older than the students, but was wearing similar green faculty robes as to that of Professor Slughorn – albeit of second hand quality.

The young man appeared to be following along with Slughorn's instructions, but Dumbledore quickly realized that he was making slight tweaks to the verbal instructions – and the results were impressive. Most of the class had caught on as well and were surreptitiously trying to mimic the young man's work. Dumbledore smiled to himself as he walked back down the hallway…

* * *

…Dumbledore was now sitting behind the large desk in his office, ostensibly playing referee between Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, but actually more interested in perusing an old textbook lying open in front of him.

"Honestly Severus, you cannot keep handing out detentions like candy for every little infraction or perceived slight you receive from a student."

"Minerva, I could care less what students say to me – I only hand out detentions and take house points away when it's deserved."

"The Bakersfield brothers claim you assigned them each a month's worth of detentions for calling you Professor Crybaby."

"Oh, am I to understand that insulting a Professor is now acceptable? Or is that just a Gryffindor privilege?"

"Of course teachers deserve the utmost respect, but the boys told me they were quietly speaking to each other, not showing any disrespect publicly. More to the point – is an entire month of scrubbing desks an equitable punishment?"

"I also gave the Croner boy and Shantley girl detentions for referring to you as an ugly old hag. I don't hear you speaking up on behalf of those Hufflepuff students."

"Severus, I know it's hard being one of the youngest teachers in the school's history, but arbitrarily handing out discipline is an abuse of your power. Quite frankly, it shows an alarmingly lack of poise and maturity!"

"Maybe another injection of younger blood is needed to reinvigorate the facility ranks – you've grown soft in your old age, allowing students to run wild, and playing favorites with your house's students!"

Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape wheeled about to face Dumbledore, faces flushed, their eyes pleading with the Headmaster to side with them…

* * *

…Dumbledore was lying on a giant sized cot, his arm in a makeshift sling and red blood dribbling across his chin. A worried looking Hagrid was fussing over him, his sweat falling in thick drops.

"How yer feelin' Professor? Can I git yer anything else? Sum food perhaps?"

"No, no Hagrid. I'm quite alright. Please stop fussing."

The door to Hagrid's hut burst open, and Snape hurried through. He swung off his traveling cloak and removed a small vial from his pocket – a bright blue and yellow liquid was sloshing around within the capsule.

"Here Headmaster, drink this quickly," said Severus as he unstoppered the vial and tilted it towards Dumbledore's waiting mouth. As soon as the liquid touched his lips, Dumbledore let out a great sigh and fell asleep.

"Wha' ya give 'im? Is he gonna be alrigh'?" asked Hagrid, suspiciously looking at Snape. "I think I betta' call Madam Pomfrey down 'ere to have a look see."

Snape whirled around and pointed a menacing finger at Hagrid.

"The Headmaster will be fine…no thanks to you! What exactly have you been doing this summer? Where do you and the Headmaster run off to, for days, even weeks, at a time?"

"That nun of yer business, now iz it?"

"The Headmaster's safety is of the utmost importance to every member of the school faculty, so it is my business." Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at the Hogwarts' gamekeeper, advancing on him with anger alight in his eyes…

* * *

…A raging storm was in full swing, white lightening streaking across the sky, thunder rocking around the heavens. Dumbledore and Snape were staring down at the castle from the open terrace of the astronomy tower. Rain sloshed around them, dropping sideways due to the wind whipping around the night air. Dumbledore looked serene, quietly taking in the storm, whereas Snape was jumpy and anxious, a human embodiment of the howling storm.

"Calm down Severus. Panic does us no good, now tell me again. What did Lucius say?"

"He agreed with me! The mark is not as faded anymore. It's becoming darker! Fuller!"

"Is it burning you?"

"Well, no. But it's…changing! Karkaroff agrees as well!"

"I see you've been keeping in touch with all your old friends. How is Igor? Settling into his teaching post?"

"You know very well you've asked me to keep my ear to the ground. Only a few of them still trust me. Now what does this mean? Is He coming back?!"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it Severus, I've heard nothing of the sort."

"But you once told me He would come back! How is that possible?"

Dumbledore stepped away from the open terrace and began to walk towards the trap door that guarded the stairs back down to the castle.

"Severus, let us talk about what you will report to Fudge at tomorrow's meeting."

"What about my mark?!"

"Now, as usual, you must give him as much information as you can on the activities of your former friends. But this time I want you to withhold certain details…" Dumbledore's voice trailed off as he descended through the trap door, leaving Snape alone on the tower terrace. Snape didn't follow his protector, rather, he turned back to face the open terrace. Cold rain sluiced his face and greasy hair, drenching his threadbare black robes…

* * *

…Dumbledore sat once again in his large office, holding court over Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.

"What is the boy like?" asked Snape.

"Yes, Albus, have you had any contact with him?" added McGonagall.

Dumbledore rose from behind his desk and began pacing about his office.

"No, I've allowed the boy to grow up alone. To learn to deal with his plight without any outside help or influence, shut off from his true world. To be honest, I am just as curious as the two of you as to what the child's nature will be like. Now I've called you both here to discuss something else. I have been entrusted with something very…precious. I'm thinking about storing the object here, within the castle, and I'm going to ask the faculty to help me guard it."

"What's the object?"

"Why does it need guarding?"

"Reasonable questions, and all be answered in due time. But for now, please get to work on designing an obstacle only a very talented wizard would be able to overcome."

Dumbledore gestured towards his office door – a silent dismissal for the other Professors. Professor McGonagall quickly walked out, but Snape lingered.

"Dumbledore…the boy…what does he look…"

"No more questions tonight, just focus on the task I have assigned you."

When Snape reached the office door, Dumbledore softly called out.

"Severus, one more thing. Please fetch Professor Quirrell for me. I have some…questions to ask him about where he went on his sabbatical."


	19. The Inquisitive Quirinus Quirrell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fortuitous encounter for the broken Tom Riddle.

Quirinus Quirrell had been the Professor of Muggle Studies at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for almost ten years, but even working at world renowned school under a brilliant headmaster did nothing to help the young wizard overcome his feelings of inadequacy and mediocrity. Quirrell was a gifted but, as his mother would say, delicate boy. He had never been blatantly harassed or bullied as a child but rather, ignored. He had never been considered a threat by, well, anyone really. Quirrell was part of the furniture, part of the background – he was always there, but no one ever cared or noticed.

This feeling of inadequacy persisted his whole life, a latent emotion hiding just beneath the surface, tainting every relationship he had ever had. Eventually Quirrell became consumed with making a name for himself, proving himself to the wizarding world – he wanted to matter, to make an indelible mark on history. To break free of his shortcomings and mature into a powerful wizard, world renowned. And it was this latent, ever present desire to make the world stand up and take notice that had led him here, to a dusty inn at the edge of an old forest.

But even here, on the outskirts of a small town in a small country, Quirrell could not get respect. The innkeeper had just spent the last ten minutes berating the clumsily dressed traveler for not having the correct currency. How was Quirrell to know that this specific town in Albania used a different kind of currency? It never occurred to him that a Professor of Muggle Studies should have been well versed in local customs and know that different countries used different currencies in the muggle world. Quirrell was finally able to extricate himself from the uncomfortable situation by giving the innkeeper his expensive watch and quickly went on his way.

Quirrell ruminated in a nasty mood – this "Grand World Tour" to gain real world experience and prepare himself for his new teaching post had gone from bad to worse. He was probably experiencing the worst sabbatical in Hogwarts' history. He always had grandiose plans that never seemed to coalesce properly from his dreams to reality. Why hadn't I planned better? Made a proper itinerary? What was my ultimate goal anyway? Did I really think I was going to capture the Dark Lord and bring him back to England? Parades and dinners held in my honor? Did I think I could force him to teach me the dark arts? Teach me the secret to surviving unforgiveable curses? Was He even still alive?!

Quirrell had blown through almost all of his travel budget and had nary a tale to tell. What was he going to regale his new students about? That time he had gotten lost in Rome for two whole days? Falling off that ship in the Mediterranean and having to be rescued by some muggle fishermen? He was supposed to gain self-confidence on this trip, not make himself feel worse – he felt more inadequate than ever.

Quirrell stopped for a rest and looked through his belongings. He had just enough money to make his way up to some of the Scandinavian countries he had read about – I could catch a slow moving train in two days' time from that old station. I'd have to camp out until then, but I can manage. Quirrell had heard that there was a fearsome creature who roamed the vast mountain ranges near Norway. The muggles called it a Yeti, a dark snow beast. The last in a long line of Norse Gods who had been trapped here on Earth, forever yearning to enter Valhalla. Maybe if he could capture one this "Grand" trip would not be a total waste…

* * *

Tom Riddle was beginning to lose faith. No, that was a damned lie. He had lost faith. In himself, in his abilities, in his future – how had it all gone so wrong? His family trees were cursed, the forsaken Riddles and indolent Gaunts, his pure blood heritage tainted by his cursed muggle father. What chance did he have, with the awful upbringing he had been subjected to? Was this how the last of Salazar Slytherin's heirs was to live? A dark shadow deep within an ignored forest? Forgotten by the world, forgotten by history, would anyone remember me?

Tom could not help but see the bitter irony in his current situation, such a cruel twist of fate. He had been preparing to make himself immortal since he had been a young boy at Hogwarts. A precious few wizards were known to have created a horcrux in their lifetimes and he had created two by the time he had turned eighteen! And now, he was ashamed to admit, he sometimes yearned for death. He could care less about the loneliness, the dull constant pain – such things had never bothered him. But living a mediocre, anonymous life? That was agony beyond endurance, true torture for Tom's soul. He had fallen to a solitary child – the hot shame was unbearable. What an ignominious end! He still could not understand what had happened that night. Must have been ancient magic…how had he not foreseen…Damn!

Now he existed deep within an old forest, in a foreign land – a place he had visited only once before. He had been in search of an object of great power back then. He had been young and virile, full of confidence and terrible purpose. He had found what had been hidden so many years ago, he had never failed at anything during those times. He knew he would be safe ensconced here in the forest, for the locals stayed away and never came prying. They believed the forest cursed ever since a maniac had butchered a beautiful, intelligent young girl here, so many years ago. The girl had stolen something precious and had hidden it here, in these very woods, woods which now hid what little remained of the greatest dark wizard of all time.

Surviving on muddy rain water, insects and discarded remains – what kind of life is this? Tom had tried – oh, how very hard he had tried – to successfully possess the creatures of the deep dark he had come across. But their bodies were ill suited for magic and they could barely accomplish the simplest of spells. They would wither and die within a few short days, and the pain and frustration of leaving them was not worth the effort to possess them to begin with.

After the first few weeks in the Albanian forest, subsisting on rotted fruits and berries, Tom had decided to venture near a few small towns located on the outskirts of the forest. The locals in these towns were ever wary, always on their guard. The forest terrified them and they rarely walked anywhere without company.

It was much easier to possess a weak willed individual when they were alone, unprotected and away from any friendly faces. Tom had floated through the towns at night, probing, yearning to reenter the physical human world. He took note of a few outcasts, misanthropes, people who would not be missed. Society's ignored and downtrodden would make viable possession candidates and Tom had finally settled on a young orphan who frequented one town's stables at night, finding warmth sleeping near animals.

One night Tom left the safety of the woods and floated towards the stables. As he glided towards the stable doors, they were suddenly thrown open and…no, it couldn't be! The old fool was here! In Albania! Fear coursed through the broken spirit of Tom Riddle. He shrank bank into the forest, his eyes never leaving the tall wizard. How did he know Tom was here? How did he know where to look? How did he even know I was alive?

Since that day, Tom had never summoned the courage to visit any place inhabited by muggles or wizards. He stayed hidden deep within the forest, where only dark and fearsome creatures lurked. Where shadows, silence and monotony were Tom's only companions.

* * *

Tom stared hard at the tree branch, willingly his ghostly hand to make a fist and pick it up. He had struggled for weeks to fashion the branch into a wand and was now attempting to wield it. Why hadn't I studied wand lore more intently when I was younger?! Why hadn't I treated the subject with more respect?! Tom swore to himself if he ever came into power again, he would pursue wand lore with a fanatical zeal and learn all he could. He would track down the most powerful wand in the world and ensure that he could never be defeated again!

But for now…he again stared down at the branch and his hand, tried to channel what little strength he had still possessed. A voice floated down to Tom as he hovered in a dark cave. There was someone nearby, it sounded like a young man. Was he talking to a companion? No, he was alone.

Who was foolish enough to venture this deep into the forest all alone? Tom drifted out of the cave and began slithering along behind the wizard. Based on the young man's mutterings, he seemed to be another weak willed wizard, mediocre like so many others. He would be so easy to possess, but then what? These pathetic souls could never duplicate the magic he had been able to exercise! Still, it was better than staying here, barely existing. Who knows when another random wizard might stumble across his path again? On the other hand, he had finally been able to fashion a wand back in the cave.

As Tom was debating with himself, he noticed something the young wizard had dropped. It was a piece of cloth, a beautiful handkerchief, and it stirred something deep within Tom, reminded him of a time long ago. Only a certain type of person would carry such an emblazoned cloth, the insignia was an intricately sown phoenix. A gift given to teachers, teachers who belonged to a famous school from Tom's past. Amazing! The wizard he was following must teach at Hogwarts!

* * *

It had been a long hike and Quirrell was tired – here was as good a place as any to set up camp for the night. Tomorrow he would head towards the train station, leave behind this boring country, another unsuccessful stop on his travel tour. Quirrell waved his wand at a tree and a few branches broke themselves off a hanging limb and walked into a large pile. The pile then magically erupted in flames, warming Quirrell as he threw off his sack and began to make up a small bed. The flickering fire was throwing shadows all over the small encampment, so Quirrell did not notice one particular dark shadow slowly moving with purpose, drifting lazily towards him.

It felt like dipping your face into a fresh basin filled with ice water after a long run, reinvigorating and refreshing. Tom felt like a man reborn as he entered the physical being of Quirinus Quirrell. Amazing, the man was out here all alone and had no mental defenses up. It had been so easy to slide into his mind, like slipping into a warm rob, cozy and inviting.

Tom waltzed around Quirrell's memory house, the young man's fears and inadequacies laid bare before him. Tom felt the desire for greatness and the pent up frustration with repeated failures, searching in vain to achieve recognition and respect. The young man tried to resist, struggle against this invasion of privacy – this rape – but he was no match for Tom, even in this ghostly, weakened state.

When Tom finished with his memory exploration, had fully combed through the last vestiges of Quirrell's long forgotten dreams, he knew everything stored in that weak mind – the old fool was still running things, his name was barely mentioned anymore, people had such short memories! Many of his loyal followers had deserted him, renounced his name to escape punishment – one had even begun working at the school…but Tom had also discovered something amazing, some so fortuitous he could scarcely believe it…Quirrell had overheard the old fool talking about a certain stone…

Tom was energized with this miraculous turn of events. How serendipitous it had been to cross paths with this gullible, weak willed man. It must be a sign of heavenly providence, an offering from fate, a twisted interpretation of a personal manifest destiny.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Quirrell screeched, his frightened voice echoing within his own mind.

"I think you know…Professor."

"What is it you want? I…I…promise…I won't tell a soul about you!"

"Is it not what I want, Quirinus. Rather, it's what you want that interests me."

"I…I don't want anything! Please…please…"

"My dear Quirinus, I have no desire to hurt you or destroy your mind. I want…no…I _need_ your help."

"My help? I know nothing! Please…"

"I have borne witness to your life's work and seen all that you have accomplished. Vast intelligence, sly cunning…and now a respected Professor at such a venerated institution. You have much to offer me Quirinus. You have much to offer to anyone."

"Th-Thank you."

"I can see you do not know much about me, do not know the real truth, only vile falsehoods that have been maliciously spread about me by my enemies…you only know what you've read in the papers and from the exaggerated stories people have created during my recent…absence. All I ask is your help to bring me safely back to England. I have some…unfinished business to attend to."

"I see…and what do I…get in return?"

Tom smiled to himself. In the end everyone is really only concerned about themselves, it was simply man's true nature. He was glad he not tried to threaten Quirrell or forcibly seize control of the young man's mind. Convincing someone it was in their best interest to serve him worked much better than with threats of violence or force. He was in a weakened state, yet he could have dominated Quirrell – his mind was as sharp as it had ever been. A self-serving desire mixed with a fear of angry reprisal – a twisted type of loyalty – was what would serve Tom best in this case.

"I can teach you the power of the dark arts. At my side you will learn to bend people to your will, learn the deepest secrets of dueling, create magic the world once thought impossible… and of course become privy to my deepest secret."

"What's that?" asked Quirrell hungrily, slowly becoming transfixed by the persuasive tongue – Tom was settling into the deepest recesses of Quirrell's mind, projecting images of grandeur into the young man's psyche.

"Isn't my conversation with you proof enough?"

"Proof? Of what is it proof of...my…my Lord?"

"The fact that I have solved the world's oldest puzzle…I have the answer to life's most important question…I can survive a killing curse…I can overcome grievous injury…I can teach you how to cheat death itself…"

The empty promise echoed loudly in Quirrell's mind, and soon he became hooked on the drug that was Tom Riddle. But this would not be a symbiotic relationship, a thoughtful mentor and a dedicated student. Tom was a virus, a germ, an insidious infection and once Quirrell become of no use to the Dark Lord, well, a sickness left untreated could only lead to one outcome.


	20. Changing Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus gets his first glimpse of Lily's son.

Snape had not felt like this in a very long time – perhaps ever.

It was a beautiful day, a russet colored sun shining bright and warming everything its rays touched. Wind whipped violently through his long dark hair – he lifted his right hand and skimmed the under belly of a cloud. He glanced down – the world seemed so small and tiny, so harmless. Snape had never been a fan of heights – a broom felt unwieldy under him and flying had never come naturally – but today he felt like he could play quidditch for the national side.

Up ahead was the man who had saved him. Yes, he could be frustrating and infuriating and insufferable, but he was also wise, generous, caring to a fault. He had become Snape's guardian, a loving uncle, his surrogate father.

Snape had succeeded Horace Slughorn as Head of the Slytherin House several years ago; he had slowly cultivated the reputation of feared taskmaster from the student body, but there was a small undercurrent of respect as well. Some of the school governors had expressed concern, many balked at his young age – the mutterings ceased as they realized his prowess in the field of potions.

The other teachers had also been wary at first, given his young age, dour attitude and rumors of his…past. But Slytherin had won the house cup six years running and he was finally earning the faculty's respect, albeit begrudgingly.

Yes, for the first time in a long time – perhaps ever – Snape felt…content.

Snape leaned forward on his broom, speeding up, and pulled alongside the towering figure of Albus Dumbledore.

"What did you tell him, sir?"

"Sir? It took ten years, but your manners are finally improving."

"Does he want it back?"

"Yes. That he does."

"And…?"

"Nicholas eventually agreed that the stone would be safer under my care. And he agreed that there was nowhere on Earth safer than Gringotts."

"But?"

Dumbledore glanced over at one of his many protégés. Like every great man, he was a natural leader and others gravitated towards him. Dumbledore was the controlling spider seated in the middle, spinning his sticky web – and what a vast web it was. At the end of this particular thread was Severus Snape, a talented but troubled young man. Dumbledore was an incredible Legilimens, but even he sometimes wondered if he could truly read the boy. Would Severus be ready for what lay ahead? Would his loyalty waver under duress? Even after ten years, Dumbledore still had not decided to trust him completely.

"But…I believe there is nowhere on Earth safer than Hogwarts."

* * *

"I've just heard someone tried to steal it! Someone actually b-breached the safeguards at the b-bank! Can you b-believe it Severus?"

Snape turned to his right and glanced at his fellow teacher. Unbelievable, he couldn't even get through a few sentences without stuttering. This idiot was promoted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? Dumbledore may test at a genius level, he may have magic lord level power, but sometimes his decisions completely dumbfound me.

Even that old hag McGonagall agrees with me, this stuttering fool has no business teaching such an important subject. What more do I need to accomplish to prove myself? I'm the one supremely qualified to teach the dark arts, not him! Goes on a yearlong sabbatical to find himself or some such nonsense; and he returns with zero self-confidence, wearing a ridiculous turban and constantly reeking of garlic. And his reward for this preposterous behavior is to teach the most important subject at Hogwarts. What the hell?

"Really? I haven't heard much about it."

"Oh y-yes. It's in the p-papers and e-everything."

"Well it's of no matter. The thief's effort was too little, too late."

Snape looked past the annoying Quirrell, ignoring another one of his bumbling questions. God, what a bothersome gnat – why does he always try to talk to me? Snape's eyes raked over the students, seemingly watching all of them. But the truth was he was trying to get a closer peek at the school's newest celebrity – he hadn't gotten a good look at the boy just yet. Would he look like her? Snape's heart jumped in his chest at the thought of Lily.

The Gryffindor table always made Snape's blood level rise a notch. Buffoons, the lot of them. Seems this year brought yet another soldier from the Weasley clan – looked like a gap toothed idiot with that stupid grin splashed across his freckled face. I would love an excuse to expel those annoying twins. And there was the Gryffindor prefect, a tall red headed lad. He was probably the best of the bunch. And there, sitting next to Percy, was the boy…

… _Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead…_

…My God, he had her eyes. Dark, piercing green pools of such depth…

* * *

…" _You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."_

Snape had perfected his opening speech to the freshman over the years; he could give it word for word in his sleep. He would typically conclude by reminding the class about the importance of attention to detail and then send them off to create a simple potion that they would undoubtedly muck up. But first, Snape was ashamed to admit to himself, he wanted to make the boy feel small. He couldn't help himself – the arrogant little brat looked just like _him_.

Snape spent the next few minutes asking Harry difficult questions, ignoring Hermoine Granger's furious attempts at answering said questions and slyly complimenting Draco Malfoy. By the time the class got started on mixing up a simple potion to cure boils, Gryffindor had managed to lose points and Harry felt like a total idiot.

The eyes may have been the beautiful dark emeralds of his one true friend, but every other physical characteristic screamed of the rotten James Potter. Deep down Snape knew it was ridiculous to place blame on the boy, but Harry's very existence on this Earth was a constant reminder that she had turned her back on him and chosen James, chosen his constant tormentor. It was as if his arch nemesis had been reborn and placed in this very class just to plague his mind. Snape was shocked at how quickly his old prejudices came flooding back, consuming his thoughts and actions.

James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were dead, Sirius Black was trapped in a nightmarish purgatory and Remus Lupin lived the lonely life of a werewolf outcast. Meanwhile – Severus Snape had escaped the long reach of the Wizengamot, the constricting chains of Azkaban and the vengeance of so many fallen wizards. He had achieved the distinguished post of a Hogwarts professor, had become the Head of the venerated Slytherin House. He had won! Won the game of life.

Yet, Snape still felt a white hot rage well up inside him at the mere sight of Harry. James was back, taunting him with every breath of his young son. She could have chosen anyone, but she chose James! Just to spite me! James and Lily haunted his dreams, and now they would haunt his waking moments, with Harry as their conduit.

Snape could not keep his gaze away from the boy for long – as he paced the dungeon classroom his eyes would always find their way back to Harry. James had been so nasty, arrogant and pretentious – and the reward for his disgusting behavior? The most precious creature on Earth. Snape hated James…and Harry. Harry and James. James and Harry. So alike, father and son.

The cocoon of peace and stability the last ten years had afforded Snape was about to crack.

Snape steadily worked himself into a seething rage, only stopping to insult a Gryffindor student or compliment Draco. Lucius' first born looked so much like him – Lucius, who could be insufferable, but had always shown Snape kindness and support. He could sense the immediate animosity between the young Slytherin and Harry, so he made sure to continue to praise Draco as often as he could.

By the time class ended, a few things became apparent to Snape. Much to his chagrin, the brightest first year was a muggle born Gryffindor, Draco had inherited his father's looks and confidence, but not his cunningness, and Harry Potter was his snobbish father's son, through and through.

* * *

Severus Snape detested this time of year. As the calendar marched on and the page turned to November, the weather turned icy and blistering. Snow was not yet falling, but the air hung heavy with cold. Frost began to form on the edges of the castle windows, the stone steps throughout the turned slick. Snape loathed November for another reason as well – it marked the start of the Quidditch gaming season.

Snape headed towards two familiar gargoyle statues, muttering about the damned season change, as two young Hufflepuffs rushed by. They had enchanted a paper snitch and were playfully chasing it, bumping into the sour potions professor without a word of apology.

"No running in the halls!"

Snape's growl reverberated throughout the long corridor, but the boys were too intent on catching their prize to heed his warning. As Snape turned the corner, he flicked his wand behind him, mumbling under his breath. A few seconds later a loud bang sounded.

Very soon Madam Pomfrey would admit two first year Hufflepuff students into her wing with gruesome looking, but harmless scorch marks across their faces. She couldn't figure out what they had been doing. They told her a paper snitch had suddenly exploded in their hands, but that hardly seemed possible.

Snape had the ghost of a smile on his lips as he whispered "Gummy Bears." Two large gargoyle statues leapt aside to reveal a staircase. Dumbledore and his ridiculous passwords.

As Snape entered the Headmaster's office, he noticed many of the self-portraits were missing their usual occupants.

"Weekly teacher chats, missing picture occupants, unexplained absences at dinner…are we at war again Dumbledore?"

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his large oak desk, casually leaning back, feet up, not a care in the world.

"Severus, you really must learn to change your outlook on life. Each day is a gift from the heavens. Don't waste your breathe spouting negativity all the time. How do you know I don't simply like speaking with my faculty each week, that the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts are simply appreciating the view from their other portraits and I'm simply enjoying some long overdue holiday time?"

Snape rolled in his eyes in reply, which elicited a loud chuckle from Dumbledore.

"Well yes, it's true, I've been a little on edge. Something just doesn't feel right…but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Snape quickly sat down. "Has it finally happened? After ten years…is He back?"

Dumbledore sighed, measuring his words. "Severus, I don't…No, I don't think so…I'm just not sure. Your mark?"

"Faded, but darker than normal. Same with Lucius, Karkaroff and Crabbe."

"But not burning, or prickling?"

"No, I would have told you at once!"

"Yes, I see…I'm not sure exactly what's happening, and that's why I've been taking some…precautions. Better safe than sorry!" And just like that Dumbledore's brooding tone switched to a light, airy manner. "Come now, there's no use worrying over what we can't control. How's the first term progressing? Who would you like me to keep a closer eye on?"

"What? I don't want to talk about students. How can He come back? How exactly is that possible?"

"No new first years have caught your eye? Any trouble makers?"

"Dumbledore how can He come back? No one can survive a killing curse!"

"Ahhh, but didn't one of your current students accomplish just that feat?" Dumbledore smiled and turned his attention back to the magazine in his lap.

Snape became very quiet, his thoughts drifting away from the Dark Lord and towards Harry Potter. He stood up and began…

… _pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore._

"– _mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent –"_

" _You see what you expect to see, Severus," said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child." Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"…_

…"That moron? Who you, for some unknown reason, gave the DADA teaching post too? Why do I need to worry about him?"

"Severus please, just do as I ask."

"You think he was behind the troll attack?"

"I think he is intelligent and well intentioned, but gullible and…too eager to impress. A dangerous combination. I fear it was a mistake to include him in providing one of the stone's defenses."

With a whirl of his robes, Snape was up and out the office. Great, another headache for me to worry about. Watching over James Potter's conceited brat, making sure my House stays in line and now keeping tabs on an untalented buffoon who took what was rightfully mine! Never a moment's peace!

* * *

Snape stumbled down the castle steps, a spotted pattern of blood trailing behind him. Each step was excruciatingly painful, like stepping on a hot blade. He had become preoccupied with things, had not kept his potions room fully stocked – like an amateur! He would have paid a thousand galleons for a taste of one drop of Dittany. His leg would never be the same again – that blasted creature! No one can get past that freakish mutt, let alone the useless Quirrell.

Snape heard some students walking up the steps and ducked into a dark nook.

"Ewww, there's blood all over the place."

"Come on. We better get going or Filch will blame this mess on us!"

Snape started back down the steps again, willingly himself to ignore the pain. He roughly pushed open the door to the staffroom – it was blessedly empty. He gingerly settled into a large chair and closed his eyes. The room was silent, save for a gentle purring.

Without opening his eyes, Snape quietly said "Please get Filch. There's blood on the west corridor steps. I need some clean bandages. And a powerful analgesic from the hospital wing. Go now, hurry."

Snape must have lost a lot of blood – for he had lost his mind. He had just issued instructions to an empty room. But amazingly the purring cat seemed to understand his instructions. She uncurled herself from a warm corner, softly brushed past his uninjured leg and trotted out of the room.

* * *

Argus Filch hurried to the Hogwart's staffroom, his arms full of cloth bandages and various ointments. He had been the loyal caretaker at Hogwarts for the past thirty years. But over time he had become less interested in the upkeep of the castle and spent the majority of his time prowling the school corridors with his cat Mrs. Norris, trying to catch students breaking school rules in order to punish, no matter how trivial or insignificant the transgression was.

They made an interesting pair, Filch and Mrs. Norris. Both had a surly temperament and a penchant for making the students' lives miserable. Mrs. Norris was a scrawny dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes. Filch was an old boney man, with long greying hair and an ever present wheezing cough. He was every family's cranky, eccentric uncle.

Filch burst into the staffroom in a rush, rousing Snape from his pain induced slumber.

"Professor! Are you alright? I came as quick as I could."

Snape looked up at Filch through watery eyes, his leg throbbing violently by this point. Stupid squib, always wearing that disgusting mothballed jacket. What took him so long?! Snape was about to fire off a nasty insult, wanting to chastise this man for making him wait in pain, but he held his tongue. Allowed his frothy anger to subside.

Over the years Dumbledore had shown Snape the power of compassion, and little by little, Snape's inner character was shifting. And besides, Filch knew the castle inside and out. It couldn't hurt to curry favor with another set of eyes and ears.

"Good of you to come Filch. It's my left leg, please see to it."

Filch handed Snape a vial with light green liquid, and then set to work on the professor's leg. Snape greedily drank the potion, leaned back and closed his eyes.

"My God, what happened?

"It was that bloody beast Hagrid procured for the Headmaster."

"Why on Earth did you tangle with that thing?"

"Filch, I need your help."

Filch's face flushed dark red at this comment. To his everlasting shame, he had been born a Squib – a non-magical being born within a magical family. Squibs were the second class citizens of the wizarding world, discrimination wasn't just an injustice that occurred in the muggle world. I'm barely treated better than the castle's house elves Filch bitterly thought.

The Headmaster was the only one who showed him even a modicum of respect. The school professors simply tolerated him. And the students? Those pampered, spoiled horrors were allowed to walk all over him. The day the wizarding world outlawed corporeal punishment at schools was one of the worst days in Filch's life.

But Professor Snape asking – no – needing his help? Finally someone around here recognized his worth.

"Of course Professor. I am at your service."

"Keep your eyes peeled these coming months Filch. Dumbledore senses something rotten is afoot and I agree. Contact me at once if you catch anyone wandering around at night, especially near the third floor."

"You suspect the students are planning something?"

"Yes…the students. They might become curious…too curious for their own good."

"What exactly is the beast guarding?"

"Ouch!"

In his shock at being treated like an equal, entrusted with a special assignment by a school professor, Filch had squeezed Snape's leg too roughly.

"A thousand apologies!"…

…" _Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"_

_Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but –_

" _POTTER!"_

_Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped._

" _I just wondered if I could have my book back."_

" _GET OUT! OUT!"_

_Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor…_

…Harry sprinted up the steps as though Snape himself was chasing after him. He knew it! Snape had been trying to get past Fluffy! That must have been where Snape was headed during the troll attack on Halloween! He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermoine what he had just witnessed.

"That boy has been at the center of trouble since day one Professor."

"He's his father's son – such a cheeky and disrespectful attitude."

The unlikely pair sat in silence for a while – Filch trying to gently finishing wrapping Snape's leg and Snape trying to focus on something else besides the throbbing pain.

"All done. But the wound continues to bleed."

"Yes, a dark creature creates dark wounds."

"Shall I fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

"Thank you Filch, but I can handle it from here. Most appreciated."

Filch got up, but hesitated at the staffroom door, the ever present Mrs. Norris winding her way between his ungainly feet.

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes?"

"What exactly is the three headed beast guarding?"


	21. A Traitor in Our Midst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord grows impatient.

It was the Holy Grail, the treasure at the end of the rainbow, a metallurgist's magnum opus – it was the Philosopher's Stone. A legendary object with extraordinary powers – the stone had the ability to lengthen one's life, transmute base metals into gold and grant its owner enhanced magical knowledge. Whether one desired the immortality of a god, dreamed of immeasurable wealth on par with King Midas or had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, the fabled stone was the key.

The search for the process to create the renowned stone consumed the minds of countless men, driving them mad with desire. History is littered with rumored appearances of such stones – legend claims a Persian holy man created the first one, Genghis Khan was said to have possessed a powerful white stone, Alexander the Great wore a mystical ruby red stone in his chest plate, Marco Polo had large blue stone built into his ship's navigation wheel and even Michelangelo was said to have been very possessive of a small purple crystal stone he wore around his neck.

Among the countless stories, one rang true – Nicholas Flamel had been alive for over six centuries, had more galleons than Gringotts and had an encyclopedia of facts stored in his head.

* * *

"It's mine Albus, and I have no interest in sharing my life's work."

"I'm not asking you to share it."

"Give it up then? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"My dear friend, all I asked was what more do you hope to accomplish in this life. And your reply has been a series of paranoid accusations. You believe I'm here to steal what you hold most dear?"

Nicholas Flamel got up from his chair and walked across a wooden deck to pour himself another glass of wine. He was sitting in his opulent sun room talking about life with one of his oldest friends, well, oldest friend in what was his "sixth" lifetime. The sun room was a large deck built into the side of a majestic mountain and afforded its occupants a stunning view of the Mediterranean Sea. It was the kind of a room only a few in this world could afford. Nicholas stared at his goblet, now full with one of the world's rarest vintages. The cost of the wine could feed a family for a lifetime.

"No…of course not."

"What's troubling you my friend?"

Nicholas stared hard at the chalice gripped in his hand, swirling the rich wine within.

"This comes from the very vineyards of the Medici."

"Yes, I know. I'm not a big drinker, but this is absolutely exquisite."

"What's troubling me is that it tastes like sour grapes."

Dumbledore stood, concern creasing his face. "Are you sick?"

"Yes Albus, I am. I'm sick of life as a matter of fact. Both me and Penelope."

"You've lived a long time Nicholas, seen more than most."

"I've seen too much…lost too many loved ones. Drink never slakes my thirst, food now tastes bland. Nothing excites us anymore. I'm tired of moving, of hiding, of being constantly hounded by thieves."

Dumbledore didn't reply, but rather walked to the edge of the room and looked out at the vast sea. It really was a breathtaking view. One could die happy simply gazing at this scenic horizon for a few hours.

"Albus, I called you here for advice. I may be six times your senior, but you are wisest man I know."

"Answer me this Nicholas."

"Yes?"

"Is there anywhere you haven't been? Is there anything you haven't tasted? Anything you haven't experienced?"

"Honestly, nothing comes to mind."

"Well then, your path is rather straightforward from here on out. I am at your service."

"Thank you Albus."

* * *

"What exactly happened?!"

Dumbledore was behind the large oak desk in his office, eyes ablaze with hot frustration. Professor McGonagall was standing in a corner, watching silently. All the portraits were also quietly observing the scene. Everyone's attention was drawn to the center of the room, towards a seated Severus Snape.

Snape glanced at McGonagall for some type of sign and she gave a quick, encouraging nod.

"Headmaster I did what I could!"

"Yes, Albus, that's true. Severus was the only person in the entire stadium who realized what was going on."

"Thank you Minerva, but I've already heard your account."

"I was just trying to…"

"Thank you Minerva! It is Severus who is tasked to watch over Harry and it is Severus who I want to hear from."

Silence hung in the office; it was rare for Dumbledore to show his impatience and even rarer for him to be curt with the Deputy Headmistress.

"Severus?"

"Nothing seemed amiss at first Headmaster, the match began normally enough. I noticed Potter was having trouble with his broom, however I assumed it was simply first time jitters. But once he started bucking wildly about, I deduced that he was being jinxed. I started a counter spell at once."

"And who had the gall to attack a student on Hogwarts' grounds?"

"I've no idea, I couldn't afford to break eye contact!"

"Minerva?"

"I'm sorry Albus, I saw no one suspicious in the crowd."

"No one making constant eye contact with young Harry as he was bucking about?"

"At that point everyone was staring at him."

Dumbledore began pacing up and down.

"Albus, does this have anything to do with the stone? I feel like its presence here might be putting the students' safety in jeopardy."

Dumbledore stopped pacing and turned to stare at McGonagall. Then, seeming to make up his mind about something, he quickly strode from the room. The Deputy Headmistress was close on his heels – leaving Snape alone, with only the portraits' worried faces to keep him company.

Snape slowly got up and limped towards the door. His leg was still sore and the bloody cold winter wasn't helping matters. As he reached the office door, he glanced to his left and spied a large glass mirror. He expected to see the sorry sight of a hobbled and weary Slytherin, but what he saw shocked him. He tentatively walked up the mirror, it couldn't be! Impossible!

Snape turned around, but there was no one behind him. He spun back to the mirror and there she was, smiling back at him. Beautiful as ever. His red flower. Snape slowly sat back down on the ground and gazed up at the large mirror. Transfixed.

When Dumbledore arrived back to his office a few hours later, that was where he found Snape – sitting quietly in the corner, legs crossed, staring unblinkingly in front of the Mirror of Erised.

* * *

A hooded figure strode quickly down the front steps of the castle and headed towards the Forbidden Forest. Severus Snape was in a foul mood for he had spent the day wasting his time on Quidditch – reading up on the rules, running the team captains' pregame meeting and then refereeing the goddamn match. And while the whole school had been at the game, someone had tried to enter the secret passage that held the philosopher's stone.

Snape was now starting to believe the culprit was not an outsider, but truly was a teacher or student. He would catch the traitor. In fact, he was on the way to meet one of his suspects now.

The full moon was shining down through a cloudless sky, casting an unnatural glow on the hard ground. It was late and there was a chill in the air – the Forbidden Forest looked as eerie as ever. Maybe proposing to meet in there had been a mistake? He had wanted Quirrell to be afraid and off balance when he questioned him, but now he had an unsettling feeling.

But rather than slow down, Snape picked up his pace and entered the forest at a dead run. In his haste he didn't notice someone following him from high up above, a small figure on a slender broom.

Snape pushed his way through branches and brambles, collecting scrapes across his face for his effort. He eventually made his way into a shadowy clearing where Quirinus Quirrell nervously stood, shifting around as if on tenterhooks.

"I _…d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"_

" _Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."_

"W-what are you talking a-about?" Quirrell kept looking all around him, more skittish than ever. "Severus I-I-I don't know where all this a-animosity and s-suspicion is coming…"

_Snape interrupted him._

" _Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"_

" _B-b-but Severus, I —"_

" _You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him._

" _I-I don't know what you —"_

" _You know perfectly well what I mean."_

Snape took a menacing step towards Quirrell.

"I know you've been testing the stone's defenses, prodding to see if there are any weaknesses. I've noticed your fumbling attempts, found evidence of – _your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."_

" _B-but I d-d-don't —"_

" _Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."_

_He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing._

_It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified…_ Harry turned his broom around and drifted back towards the castle, careful to stay out of sight. Should he go to Professor McGonagall? Or maybe Dumbledore? Snape was getting increasingly desperate; he was now openly threatening Quirrell to help him steal the stone!

Snape strode out of the forest, frustration roiling his insides. The weak spirited fool could never hope to pass through the stone's defenses – he was too much of coward to even try. I don't know why he's even on Dumbledore's radar. But Snape did have to admit to himself that he did sense something about Quirrell tonight. There had been a dark aura around him, something Snape had not sensed for a long, long time…

Quirrell stood rooted to the spot where Snape had left him, all alone in the shadowy clearing. He was trembling, perspiration dripping from his brow in open defiance of the chilly night.

"P-please. I'm sorry Master. I-I'm doing my best."

"You have not even advanced past the three headed Cerberus," hissed an unseen voice.

"I'm t-trying my Lord!"

"I don't have time for this incompetence!"

Suddenly Quirrell dropped to his knees, writhing in pain. He let loose a guttural scream, spooking even the darkest of creatures lurking about the tall trees. Quirrell rolled over onto his back, dark blood seeping from his eyes.

"Get up. Get up you sniveling rat!"

Quirrell wiped the bloody discharge from his eyes and tried to rise up to a knee.

"I promise I will rip the flesh from your bones tonight if you continue to wither on the ground."

"Of course m-my Lord," Quirrell replied as he rose, swaying on his unsteady feet.

"Remove this disgusting turban, let me breathe."

"Of course m-my Lord."

Quirrell unwrapped the cloth turban that was bound tight around his head – he looked amusingly small without it on. But the real surprise lay at the back of his head. Where there should have been long brown hair, instead was a grim outline of a terrible face. Pure white with burning scarlet eyes and snakelike slits for nostrils. This was the hell Tom Riddle had been banished to, a wisp among the living – a dark shadow that could only take form when part of another's body.

"Turn around…the beast is behind you."

Quirrell slowly rotated on his heels and saw a wounded unicorn limp into the clearing. It was a splendid magical creature – white as pure driven snow, a long silver mane and golden hooves. A bright alabaster horn shone from its forehead, glistening in the moonlight. Unicorns were powerful creatures – it was virtually impossible to catch a glimpse of the animal, let alone catch one. But the Dark Lord had powers unparalleled in the magical world. Quirrell felt a force from within raise his hand and beckon towards the white creature. The unicorn looked as if it wanted to sprint away and began shaking its head. But a few seconds later it began to make its way towards Quirrell.

The beast reached the trembling professor and then gracefully knelt down, exposing its throbbing neck. Unicorn blood was a rare liquid indeed. It was known to have healing powers, not as powerful as phoenix tears, but very efficacious none the less. The problem was that unicorn blood must be found or given freely for its healing properties to manifest. If the blood was taken, it could still extend one's life – but it would be a cursed life, a half-life.

However, Quirrell was willingly to make this sacrifice. He had been chosen and this was a small price to pay to serve a holy cause. Quirrell reached into his robes and withdrew a dragon-fire steel dagger with a pumice handle. He said a silent prayer and then pressed it into the waiting unicorn's throat. The cold steel sliced through the pearl white flesh as though it were hot butter. With a violent jerk, Quirrell ripped the blade across the beast's throat and soiled the ground with silvery blood.

The beautiful unicorn swayed on its slender legs for a moment and then fell, its legs splayed in unnatural angles. Fighting the disgust churning in his belly, Quirrell bent down low and let the squirting blood splash across his face. He then put his lips to the open wound and sucked the liquid down. Unicorn blood willingly given was said to taste like ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. But unicorn blood taken – it tasted like metallic wool dipped in hot acid.

Quirrell's throat burned and burned, but on he drank. After a few minutes, his strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Tom's frustration was mounting. Possessing someone so thoroughly, as he had been doing with Quirrell, was a constant drain on his ethereal life force. The more unicorn blood he drank, the less its efficacy became. He needed something more powerful! He needed the stone! Now!

"Wake up! Wake up you useless idiot! Wake up!"

Quirrell's eyes fluttered opened, Riddle's voice ringing in his mind.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Time is now of the essence. No more games. I want you to forge a letter."

"Of course my Lord. From w-who shall it be?"

"Pen is from the desk of the Minister of Magic."

"And t-to who shall it be a-addressed?"

Distant wails and cries could be heard from within the forest for magical blood had been spilt this full moon. Nature was mourning the slaying of an innocent this night.

"Address it to Albus Dumbledore."


	22. To Follow in His Footsteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape displays stubborn loyalty.

Quirinus Quirrell had never felt so confident, so assertive, so poised in his entire life. Is this what it feels like to believe in a worthy cause? To be part of something bigger than yourself? Anything was possible when the Dark Lord was your guide, illuminating the righteous path. He glided along with a sense of purpose and power normally reserved for the self-assured elite. The old fool's safeguards had been no match for him – with the Dark Lord watching my back anything was possible. It was so close, pure salvation, waiting for him in the next chamber. Quirrell took a deep breath and stepped into the jet black flames. There was a sizzling hiss as the fire enveloped him, its blazing hot flames angrily licking his robe.

* * *

"Hello Miss Granger, may I ask what exactly you're doing out here?"

Snape had just exited the staffroom and noticed the bushy haired first year skulking outside.

"Oh, hi Professor. I was just, um, well to be honest, I uh…" nervously squeaked Hermoine.

"Well this is a first. Hermoine Granger unable to provide a sufficient answer. Didn't I just warn you and the other Gryffindor clowns about wandering around, poking your large noses where they don't belong?"

"I was actually, um, waiting for Professor Flitwick…sir."

"Oh really? Concerning what?"

"Well, um, it's actually a private…"

"Look at me when you're speaking to me!"

Hermoine picked up her eyes from the floor and stared into the vacant dark pools of Severus Snape. She suddenly felt an odd tingling sensation, unlike anything she had every experienced before. It felt like he was inside her head, bearing witness to her life, past and present. She began to see long ago memories from her early childhood spring to the front of her mind, projected onto a huge screen for all to see. And then in an instant the feeling disappeared.

Hermoine bent over in surprise, terrified that Snape suddenly knew all about her life, her family, her hopes, her dreams, her fears…their plan to protect the stone! She quickly looked up, expecting an accusatory outburst from the potions master. Would he expel her? Did he have that power to punish her for meddling in his plans? Would he…hurt…her?

But when she looked at Snape's pale face he didn't seem shocked at all.

"What is wrong with you girl? Get up!"

Hermoine struggled to regain her composure. I don't understand – why wasn't Snape mad at what he had just seen. He now knew that Harry and Ron and she suspected him of treachery! Knew they were trying to thwart his plans to steal the stone!

"Miss Granger, are you going to tell me why you want to see Professor Flitwick or will I be forced to deduct more points from Gryffindor for your impertinence?"

"Uhhh, I wanted to discuss my charms final…sir."

"Wait right here, I shall get the professor. I'm very interested to hear what questions you have for him."

Hermoine watched Snape stalk away to fetch Professor Flitwick. He had made no indication that anything strange had just occurred between them. As Hermoine ran as fast as she could back to the Gryffindor common room, she came to the conclusion that she must have imagined the whole episode – possibly an epileptic fit brought on by extreme stress? Those boys will be the death of me! The brightest witch of her age knew far more than she should have, but she had yet to learn about the field of Legilimency.

Snape sat down in the staffroom, ignoring the other teachers. Once finals were over there was always an air of exhilaration amongst the faculty. They were just as excited as the students that the busy school year had come to its conclusion. But while his colleagues were discussing their favorite students and summer travel plans, Snape was more concerned about what he had just seen.

How the hell had those three troublemakers discovered so much about the stone? That insufferable Potter was clearly the ringleader, and the girl's memories suggested they were determined to break into the underground chambers. He was going to get himself and his friends killed! Just like his father! The rules never apply to the house of Potter!

"Minerva? Excuse me, Minerva?"

"Yes Severus."

"Where is the Headmaster? I need to speak with him at once!"

"I'm afraid he's just left campus."

* * *

Dumbledore always marveled at the grandiosity of the Ministry of Magic lobby. It was deep underground and carved as a wide open space – a huge atrium that held a large fountain, several magnificent statues and many floo network fireplaces. The Ministry was supposed to be a public building, for the people, by the people. But the opulence of the lobby was a rather obvious symbol of the greed, corruption and largesse that eventually seeps into all political establishments.

The fanciful lobby reminded Dumbledore of the splendid muggle churches he had visited as a teenager. They were amazing to behold – how ingenious and resourceful muggles could be! Wizards always underestimated their intelligence and ingenuity. But while the great churches of the middle ages were architectural wonders, they were also grand monuments of hypocrisy. These were supposed to be houses of worship for the masses, clergymen were ostensibly supposed to be humble and chaste. The priest class should be comfortable, yet adhere to a spartan lifestyle, for more is less – the height of cultivation runs to simplicity. Instead, the great muggle churches were gilded with gold, boasted extravagant paintings and taxed their flocks past the point of reason.

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely thought Dumbledore with sadness. Wizards were more similar to muggles than they cared to admit. Still, the lobby was an amazing magical achievement – a beautiful sight to greet wizards and witches as they entered the Ministry of Magic.

The letter had mentioned that Fudge wanted to see him this evening, but Dumbledore had decided to come to London early. He had wanted time to visit the Halls of the Dead, a magical cemetery located within underground London. He made an effort to carve out time to pay his respects to the great wizards and witches of the past, some of whom he had formed personal relationships with during his lifetime. The Halls had been built near the Ministry and was connected by the floo network. Dumbledore had finished his tour of the Halls and saw no downside to arriving a few hours early for his appointment with the Minister.

Dumbledore dusted off the fireplace ashes from his sky blue robes as he arose from a fireplace and walked towards the Ministry elevators. He stopped every few moments to speak with someone or wave hello. Being so renowned and so unflatteringly polite could be quite a drain on one's time he observed.

"Excuse me! Can I see some identification?" gruffly barked a Ministry guard as Dumbledore walked right by the entrance desk.

Dumbledore turned towards the man, grinning widely behind his long white beard, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Pardon me sir. I didn't realize it was you."

"Call me Albus. How are you Reginald?

The security guard could not muster a reply, too shocked that the famous wizard even knew his name.

"Albus? What are you doing here?"

Dumbledore turned around at the sound of a booming, unctuous voice.

Cornelius Fudge stood behind him wearing the splendid dark black robes befitting his presidential position. He was flanked by a small cadre of secretaries and lackeys, who were shadowing his every step.

"I know I'm a bit early, but wanted to pop in anyway. Quite curious about the American Minister's treaty proposal."

"What? That bastard's finally sent the proposal?" Fudge turned around angrily to his personal delegation. "Why was I not informed at once?"

The only response he got back was a sea of puzzled looks and hurried apologies.

"You haven't read the proposal?"

"Not yet, I didn't even know he had sent it! I don't understand, did he send it directly to you Albus? Have you been holding counsel behind my back?!"

People had been sneaking glances at the famous pair of wizards, but as Fudge's voice rose an angry octave, an interested crowd began to form.

"Cornelius of course not. I'm here at your behest."

"I never called a meeting with you."

"Your letter? The urgent request?"

"Albus I have no idea what you are talking about. In fact I'm now on my way to Ireland, should have left hours ago."

Dumbledore stared hard at Fudge for a few moments, a puzzled frown creasing his face. Then he came to some silent conclusion.

"Apologies Minister. There has been a misunderstanding on my part. Enjoy your trip – the Irish make the best stews." He then turned to Reginald. "May I borrow your hat please? I'm sure the Minister will quickly authorize you to purchase a new one."

The security guard couldn't understand what the great wizard could possibly want with his worn out bowler hat, but he quickly complied.

Dumbledore grabbed the hat and set it down on the lobby entrance desk. He pointed his wand at the hat and muttered "Portus". The hat glowed blue, quivered soundlessly for a few seconds and then became still once more. Dumbledore waved to Fudge, tightly gripped the hat, and disappeared in a swirl.

Fudge stared disbelieving at the spot where Dumbledore had just vanished. He then turned to one of the wizards standing behind him.

"David, isn't the Ministry supposed to be one of the most secure buildings in the world?"

"Yes sir."

"Is unauthorized entry or exist possible within these walls?"

"No sir."

"Then can you explain to me how in the hell Dumbledore was able to create an unauthorized portkey right in front of my Head of Security?!"

* * *

Dumbledore's feet slammed into the rocky ground, he was standing in the front stone courtyard of the Hogwarts castle. It was late in the day, the courtyard was mostly empty save for a smattering of students enjoying a few peaceful moments at the end of the semester. He tossed the bowler hat aside and quickly strode up the front steps and into entrance corridor. Snape and McGonagall were standing outside the Great Hall talking in low tones when they spotted the familiar towering figure entering the castle.

"Professor did you get my message?!"

"Albus can we have a word?"

Dumbledore strode right past the pair and swiftly hurried on to the moving staircase. With a worried look at each other, Snape and McGonagall quickly followed.

Dumbledore got off the moving staircase at the third floor and headed towards the secret entrance to the underground chambers, ignoring the repeated questions of the two professors trailing behind him. As they approached the secret door to Fluffy's room, Dumbledore withdrew his wand – Snape and McGonagall soundlessly sensed there was some unseen danger and unsheathed their wands in unison.

"Come out slowly. Now!" thundered Dumbledore, his wand pointed directly at the door. As the door slowly opened, soft music could be heard floating through. Out stepped Hermoine Granger, red faced and sweaty. She had cuts and bruises lining her face. Lying behind her on the floor was a battered looking Ronald Weasley.

"My God! Child, what happened? How did you get in there?" exclaimed McGonagall.

"Minerva, Severus – please help escort Miss Granger and Mister Weasley to the hospital wing."

"Of course –"

"Yes sir –"

Snape and McGonagall rushed forward and helped carry the two children away from the slumbering beast. Dumbledore bent down to inspect the damage that had been wreaked upon the brave students, waving his wand over them.

"Will they he be okay Professor?" softy cried Hermoine.

"I think so, now will you all please go see Mrs. Pomfrey. At once!"

"I'm coming with you," Snape said plainly.

"No, you and Minerva will take these children to hospital wing," replied Dumbledore. "You will then notify the Ministry that there has been an incident at Hogwarts and request them to send us some Aurors."

"Aurors? What's going on Albus?" asked McGonagall. "Who else is down there?"

Dumbledore did not answer. Instead he walked into Fluffy's room and shut the door firmly behind him.

McGonagall looked towards Snape.

"Severus?"

"It's obvious isn't it? Potter's down there."

McGonagall let out a shocked gasp and Hermoine started crying.

"Come, let us take these two to Madam Pomfrey and then contact the Ministry."

Snape looked at the weeping Hermoine and the unconscious Ron, something between respect and disgust registering on his scowling face. He then turned away from them and stared hard at the closed door.

* * *

Dumbledore looked about the small room, his eyes digesting the curious scene. A golden harp stood in one corner, magically playing a soothing lullaby. He flicked his wrist towards the instrument and the music stopped at once. Fluffy's middle head sleepily opened its eyes, taking in the now quiet surroundings. When it spied the tall wizard in sky blue robes it began to snarl, viscous saliva dripping sloppily from its giant maw. The other two heads immediately wakened, sensing a rising tension.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers and the beast immediately ceased its snarling and lifted a giant paw up off the ground – it had been resting over a trapdoor. Dumbledore raised the door and dropped down into a dark hole. He floated down and landed in a soft nest of Devil's Snare. Normally the rare plant would quickly entangle anything that came into contact with its tendrils. They were long and sinewy, with the crushing power of a python – it made the Venus flytrap seem like a harmless rose. But the plant didn't move as Dumbledore quickly walked across it and headed into the next chamber.

Snape slowly opened the door to Fluffy's room, McGonagall's admonitions ringing behind him. Fluffy was wide awake and not at all pleased at being awoken from its musical slumber. He took several swipes at Snape's head, causing Snape to venture back outside the room, favoring his right leg.

"Severus!"

"Take the children to the hospital wing! Alert the Ministry! Go now!"

Snape kept staring at the maniacal dog, stumped. The huge animal whipped its tail around and knocked over the harp, sending it skidding across the room. The sight of the golden instrument triggered something within Snape – he recalled the fact that music was playing when Hermoine had opened the door. Snape flicked his wand at the damaged harp. It began playing a soft harmony, albeit out of tune as several of the strings had just been shredded. However, the music achieved the desired effect – the beast was soon lulled to gentle slumber.

Snape tentatively approached, expecting some type of trap to spring open any second. He poked the beast a few times with his wand and jumped back at the ready. But when Fluffy stayed asleep, Snape quickly dropped through the open trap door. He fell into a soft plant, his senses on high alert. Almost immediately, strong tendrils began wrapping themselves around his body.

"Protego!"

The shield charm bounced uselessly of the plants.

"Sectumesepra!"

The dark magic cut deep wounds into the tendrils, but they did not tear apart. One wrapped itself around Snape's throat, slowly constricting his air supply. Rather than panic, Snape maintained an unnatural calm. He racked his brain for the right answer, his thoughts silently flipping through the pages of his old herbology textbooks. He flicked his wand and a little puff of smoke hissed out. Snape closed his eyes, frowned in concentration and flicked his wand again.

A large flame shot forth and the tendrils immediately released their hold on him, slinking away from the hot light. Snape gasped for air as he crawled over to a stone wall lining the room. He then followed a small path carved into the wall, heading towards the next chamber.

* * *

Dumbledore entered a huge chamber – there was a large wooden door lining the entire back wall. Above him where a multitude of winged keys zipping about and to his right were some discarded brooms.

Ignoring the brooms, Dumbledore began walking across the room. He raised his arm and pointed a finger towards the winged keys fluttering about like a rabid school of fish. He then jerked his arm down and pointed his finger towards the door. One of the winged keys broke away from the pack and flew into the keyhole, unlocking the door and swinging it open. Dumbledore strode through and the door swung shut behind him.

Snape entered, took one look at the flying keys, the old brooms, and let out a tired sigh. After a ten long minutes of being pelted continuously by the keys, he grasped one with a broken wing and jammed it into the key hole. By the time he left the chamber, a deep welt was forming on his left check and blood was dribbling down his gaunt face.

* * *

A large human sized chess board filled the next chamber. Dumbledore stepped onto the board and quickly walked across. The gothic chess pieces looked tall and imposing, but did not move an inch as the Headmaster strode past them. In less than thirty seconds, Dumbledore was across the room and into the next chamber.

Snape entered the room several minutes behind the Headmaster. He spied the huge chess set and was unsure of how to proceed. He placed a foot onto the board and a nearby knight moved quickly to block his path. Snape took another step forward and the knight leaned down and drew out a long broad sword.

"I am Severus Snape! A Hogwarts professor! I am here to help Albus Dumbledore, let me pass!"

Snape's yell reverberated through the chamber and none of the pieces moved. Snape took another step forward. No movement. He took another small step forward, eyes directly on the knight in front of him. Still none of the pieces moved.

Snape let out a sigh and continued forward. Suddenly the knight swung his sword at Snape's head, the heavy weapon slicing through the air with a loud whistle, searching for a clean kill. Snape ducked and rolled back off the board. He glanced back towards the door to the previous chamber, gave a resigned sigh, and then looked back towards the chess board.

"I will take the place of the left bishop."

* * *

In the next chamber, a large mountain troll was coming to. It was rubbing its head, still unaware of where it was or why it had been knocked unconscious. When it spotted Dumbledore walking towards it, the troll reached to its side and picked up its club. Dumbledore waved his finger at the troll and said "No" – the troll dropped the club and laid its giant head back down on the ground. Suddenly, what it wanted most in the world was to take a nap. As its giant eyes began to close, it sleepily watched the tall wizard make his way across the chamber and into the next room.

Snape appeared in the chamber some time later. To go along with the welt and deep cut along his face, he now sported a black eye, twisted ankle and torn robes.

He spied the sleeping troll and breathed a sigh of relief. Snape stuck close to the wall and began slowly edging along it, careful not to make a sound. It was slow going, but better safe than sorry. When Snape got to the far wall he chanced a quick look behind him –the troll was still lying on its stomach, eyes closed. Snape edged further along, but when he was a few yards from the door a large shadow passed over him. Snape slowly turned around and stared up at an irate, fully grown mountain troll.

* * *

Dumbledore walked into the next chamber and the moment he passed across the room's threshold purple flames shot up behind him. In the doorway leading onward jet black flames shot up from the floor. Dumbledore paused for just a moment in front of the black flames and then confidently walked through.

There was a loud bang, a guttural howl and a crunching smash. Snape dragged himself into the chamber, a fractured wrist was his newly gifted medal of honor. As he collapsed across the room's threshold, purple flames appeared behind him and black flames in the doorway ahead of him.

He struggled to his feet and limped to a table with seven differently shaped bottles lined up on it. He immediately grabbed the tiniest one and tilted it into his mouth, but it was empty. He smashed the bottle on the ground in frustration and slumped to the ground. A terrible scream from the room ahead roused him from his pity party.

Snape stood back up and flicked his wand at the ground. The broken pieces of the tiny bottle coalesced together and then jumped up into his uninjured hand. He then carefully measured out and poured small quantities from each of the other bottles into the newly repaired small bottle. He then swirled the tiny bottle around in concise circles and heated it with his wand. After a few moments, he stoppered the bottle and shook it furiously. The yellowish liquid turned a bright purple. Snape took a large sip, dropped the bottle back onto the table and hobbled over to the black flames.

Snape stopped a few feet from the jet black flames whipping around the doorway to the final chamber. He tapped his wand to the top of his head and muttered "Effaversance." A light mist flowed from the wand and covered his entire body. He felt as though he had just bathed in a warm spring, the pain bulging through his body slowly fading away.

The wounds caused by the obstacles in the previous chambers could not be cured with simple spells, as they were cast by powerful wizards – Snape would ultimately need a magical doctor's touch to mend his wounds. But the ancient spell he just cast added a small layer of protection and, more importantly, helped to dull the pain. He could still break bones or become grievously injured, but the pain he experienced would be muted over the next hour.

He rolled his twisted ankle, felt a snap and then gingerly wrapped it with some torn cloth from his robe. Severus Snape took a deep breath and stepped into the jet black flames. There was a sizzling hiss as the fire enveloped him, its blazing hot flames angrily licking his robe.


	23. So Close, Yet So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man with two faces meets the only one He ever feared.

Albus Dumbledore was indisputably one of the greatest wizards of all time. He could perform incredible feats of magic with just a flick of his wrist. He could converse fluently in over thirty magical languages. He had contributed more to the field of magic than almost anyone in history. But he was not God. He had been defeated in duels before, he had been hoodwinked before – and right now, in this moment, he was terrified at what awaited him.

Dumbledore could not say for sure what he had expected to see when he entered the final chamber, but it was certainly not this – a horribly scarred and disfigured man was attempting to shrug off a small boy who was yanking down on the man's arm, holding on for dear life. The man had angry blisters on his hands and face, as if hot acid had been poured on the poor soul. The chamber reverberated with the boy's terrified wails, the man's dreadful shrieks…and another voice.

There was someone else in the chamber, along with the man and the boy, yelling in a deep raspy voice. The hidden man was issuing a terrible order, but Dumbledore could not sense where he was standing.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" the evil voice commanded, over and over again.

Paralyzing fear spiked through Dumbledore, but time waited for no man – he had to act…now. The Headmaster sprinted towards the odd looking couple – a frightened little boy and a disfigured man. He wrenched Quirrell's arm from Harry's grasp, spun Quirrell around and flung him away. Quirrell skidded along the ground, his blistering skin ripped asunder by the stone floor. He slammed into the Mirror of Erised, shattering the shiny glass into a million pieces. A line of blood now graced the floor, a red river formed among the stones tiles.

Dumbledore looked down at the unconscious boy – "Harry! Are you alright? Harry!"

He tried to shake the boy awake, but it was of no use. Whether from pain or shock – or a combination of both – the brave lad had passed out. Dumbledore scooped up the limp Harry and walked towards the chamber exit, but unnatural, animalistic laughing stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Leaving so soon?"

Dumbledore sensed the imminent threat and spun away – a curse flew right by him and slammed into the stone wall, scattering bits of rock. Dumbledore shielded the limp body of Harry from the ricocheting debris and then placed the boy gently down on the ground, waving his wand to create a shimmering magical barrier in front of Harry.

Quirrell slowly go to his feet, wand still pointed towards Dumbledore.

"Give me the stone Dumbledore…or the child will suffer."

Quirrell's lips didn't move, and yet the voice seemed to emanate from him, or rather, from within him. Dumbledore's eyes darted around the room. He could sense the dark magic floating in the air, had realized the true owner of the raspy voice, but could not understand where Riddle was hiding.

"Come now Tom, we both know I cannot do that. Why don't you show yourself and we can have a nice talk."

"But I'm not hiding Dumbledore…"

Dumbledore stared hard at the pathetic figure drunkenly swaying before him. What remained of Quirrell was now just a broken shell of the man who had joined the Hogwarts family so many years ago. His face was pockmarked with burns and raw blisters, his hands were red and black with charred skin. His robes were tattered and torn, blood and dirt streaked his body. Quirrell slowly turned around and Dumbledore sucked in a quick intake of breath. Dear God!

A face peered out from the back of Quirrell's head. It was a gleaming white face, seemingly made of translucent wax. Its pupils had a menacing air about them – no eyebrows, deep crimson red, full of hatred and malice. The face had slits for nostrils and a thin lipless mouth. It looked part serpent, part man and pure hate. Immortality had a price.

There was a sickening crunch and Quirrell's body began to transform. His shoulders popped out from their sockets and rotated around. His hips cracked and forced his legs to turn around. Quirrell's skeletal frame had become abhorrently distorted – now Riddle's face, arms and legs faced Dumbledore, with Quirrell's face and chest constituting the "back" of this body.

Riddle had gruesomely performed the transformation without any fore warning. The terrible screams of pain that shot forth from Quirrell moved Dumbledore to tears. The naïve and gullible professor had experienced a lifetime of pain in the last few minutes – death would be a welcome respite.

Dumbledore and Riddle stood silent for a moment, their wands hanging loosely by their sides, staring at each other. A composed wizard and a mutilated zombie – a twisted Mexican standoff.

"Does your depravity know no bounds Tom?"

"Do not…use that…name!"

Quirrell's body may have appeared perverse and destroyed, but Riddle remained a powerful dark wizard. He could perform remarkable feats of magic, no matter what vessel he was forced to use. Riddle swung his wand forward and out shot a silver blade, spinning perilously towards Dumbledore.

Dumbledore crouched low and easily knocked the blade aside with his wand and he watched it flutter harmlessly to the ground. When he stood back up, Riddle had vanished. Only the broken mirror, its glass shards littering the ground, remained in front of him. A shocked gasp caused Dumbledore to spin around, wand at the ready.

Snape had stumbled into the chamber, appearing as though he had just survived a fiery crucible.

"Are you okay sir? Is the stone safe?"

Dumbledore held a finger to his lips and tuned back towards the empty chamber, eyes darting around in worry. Where was he?

The Headmaster pointed behind him, towards the prone body of Harry, as he began to walk slowly towards the broken mirror. Snape limped over to Harry, waving his wand over the child to check him for injuries. Dumbledore stopped a few feet from the shattered mirror, quietly waiting – the only sound echoing within the chamber was Snape's labored breathing.

"Sir? The boy needs medical attention."

"Take him and leave. Now."

"Sir…what are you looking for? Do you need my –"

"Leave now Severus. You have already disobeyed me once today."

Snape struggled to pick up the small boy, the journey here had sapped him of his wiry strength. He finally bundled up Harry onto his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him towards the exit.

Dumbledore continued to patiently stare at the shattered mirror – he had all the time in the world. He slowly closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. The air shifted ever so slightly around him, a cold shiver ran along his spine.

Suddenly, the Headmaster shot a hand straight out and grabbed at something invisible right in front of him. The air quivered and rippled – now at the end of Dumbledore's outstretched hand was a scalded throat. The rest of Riddle's battered body slowly appeared before Dumbledore – Riddle struggled to escape the vice like grip, his invisibility spell now melted away. Dumbledore began to raise Riddle up by his throat, his long white beard belying his hidden strength.

Riddle squirmed within the Headmaster's grasp, struggling to slip away. He reached up and stabbed his wand through Dumbledore's arm, causing the vice like grip on his throat to loosen. He twisted away, landing hard on his awkward, ungainly feet – his wand now covered with Dumbledore's blood. Riddle screamed "Stupefy!" and a red jet shot forth from this wand. Dumbledore deftly stepped aside, cradling his injured arm close to his chest.

The hair on Snape's neck stood up in shock at the angry curse…that voice…he had heard it before. Snape began to turn around, fearful yet curious. But when he looked towards the yell all he saw was a dizzying red. The stunning spell smashed into Snape's face, breaking his jaw and sending him flying backwards. His body gave a nauseating thud against the stone wall and he slumped to the floor. Harry fell from his arms and skidded across the floor, unmoving.

Riddle pointed his wand at the broken mirror shards lying on the floor and swung his arm towards the ceiling. The shards began swirling around and up, faster and faster, like a whirling glass dust devil. Pieces then shot out from the swirling mass, small deadly missiles looking to pierce. Dumbledore spun on the spot and, impossibly, the glass shards missed him, all slamming into the far stone wall. Snape and Harry prone bodies were showered with broken glass.

Dumbledore stopped spinning, with only a few telltale scrapes along his chin. Riddle let out a furious scream, frustration shaking him.

"Come on! Attack me you coward!"

Riddle's face was twisted in a dark rage; his blistering skin was weeping blood, giving him an even uglier veneer. He waved his hand back and forth and his wand turned into a one-handed flail – a wooden shaft with a chain on the end, and at the end of the chain lay a spiked metal ball. Riddle's frustration mounted – a seething rage enveloped him as his gaze flickered from Dumbledore to Harry's pocket.

"Enough of this! Give me the stone!" Voldemort screamed. He twisted the flail over his head, a psychotic gladiator advancing on his opponent.

Dumbledore put his wand to his left hip and then raised it, as if removing a sword from its sheath. And amazingly he was now holding a long broadsword. It was crafted from pure silver, shining rubies set along its hilt – a stunning achievement in goblin metallurgy, truly one of a kind.

Voldemort exerted all of the power remaining in Quirrell's maimed body as he violently swung the flail down onto his nemesis. Dumbledore raised Gryffindor's sword above his head and knocked away the spiked ball. Riddle stumbled backwards, his ungainly body looking like a grotesque puzzle. He whipped the flail around again and swung it once more at Dumbledore's head. Dumbledore again raised the sword to parry the blow, but this time he misjudged.

The spiked ball glanced off the sword and grazed Dumbledore's head, while the long metal chain wrapped around the sword. For a brief moment the two great wizards were locked in a bizarre tug of war, the flail tightly wrapped around the sword like an angry python.

"It's over Tom."

Godric Gryffindor's sword glowed bright red and burst into flames. The flail caught fire and burned brightly for a few seconds, and then exploded into ashes. All that remained in Voldemort's hand was Quirrell's splintered wand, a deep fracture now running down its middle. Voldemort's angry breathing become more and more labored, his life force slowly draining away.

Riddle's eyes shone with hate as his arm dropped to his side, the broken wand slipping from his grasp and onto the ground.

"Don't you understand? You old fool, you shall never kill me…"

A white mist began to rise from Quirrell's body, hot steam floating away on a cool day. Dumbledore watched the mist rise higher and higher, and drift away through crevasses in the stone ceiling. Any trace that Tom Riddle had come back had vanished away; the snake had once again shed its skin.

Dumbledore looked down with pity at Quirrell's burnt, splintered body – no one deserved such a cruel end. Tom Riddle had been feeding on the weak and naïve since his days in the orphanage. Quirrell was not the first victim to fall prey to Riddle's manipulations…and he would not be the last. Dumbledore reached down and turned the backwards body over on itself. Quirrell's blistered face stared back at him, etched in the agony of death. Dumbledore passed his hand over the ruined face, closing Quirrell's eyes for the last time.

"Yes Tom, you're right…"

Dumbledore turned to glance at Snape's limp body…and then shifted his gaze to the unconscious Harry. So different…yet so alike. These two would never know, never realize how closely their destinies were intertwined. I wonder what the three of us could accomplish together if…

Dumbledore shook the thought from his mind and walked over to Harry. He stared down at the young, innocent face. Unblemished, save for a curious looking lightening shaped scar on the forehead.

How could someone so young – who had been mistreated his entire life, had never known the warmth and comfort of a loving home – how was this little boy able to summon such ferocious courage and loyalty?

"…you will not fall by my hand."

* * *

The Great Hall shook with thunderous applause. Loud cheers were coming from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, but the fiercest shouts emanated from the rowdy Gryffindor table. The Slytherins was frozen in silence – some in shock, others with indignant anger. Above the hall swung emerald green banners with silver trim, a large serpent head adorning each one. With a loud clap from the Head Table the green hangings became scarlet and the silver trim transformed into gold, the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

Snape shook McGonagall's hand with a horrible, forced smile. Smug bitch – she ran off to the hospital wing while I got my teeth kicked in. No one would ever know my actions, yet the entire school was somehow fully aware of Harry and his friends' reckless behavior. Slytherin House had reigned supreme over Hogwarts seven years running, and now Potter's evil spawn had shattered the Slytherin streak in stunning fashion.

Snape knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous of the attention the three young students were receiving, but alas, he was. He shot a frustrated glance at Dumbledore. I suppose my actions didn't warrant additional points for Slytherin?! Forever banished, I will always languish in the background.

Snape quietly rose from his seat and snuck out of the Great Hall. He was setting a terrible example for his house, but he didn't care. I'll be damned if I have to sit through that farce of a ceremony, awarding the cup to those who did not rightly deserve it.

Snape slowly walked through the empty castle, alone with his thoughts; he eventually ended up at the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was always quiet up there and the view was truly stunning but, truth be told, Snape loved the spot because it had been one of Lily's favorite haunts. After their fight, he would always come up here, desperately hoping she would come one night…he still felt close to her when he was up there.

"Does it hurt?"

Snape jumped in shock at Dumbledore's voice. Could this bloody man now read minds? How could he know my heart was aching for Lily at this very moment? How can he know I'm stinging with loneliness, with deep regret?

"What?"

"Your face, is it feeling better? Your jaw seems to be mending well."

Snape rubbed his chin, he could still feel the spot where the stunning spell hit and broke his jaw apart. Dark magic always proved difficult to fully heal.

"Madam Pomfrey is adept at her job."

"And she told me about the potion you spent hours brewing for Harry and his classmates. I appreciate that Severus. Truly I do."

Snape turned back towards the open view, watched students milling about the front courtyard, carefree and happy.

"Do you really Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore chuckled, "Sore over the house cup? Come now Severus, they showed true courage for their age."

"And me?"

"You? I'm not surprised when a great wizard exhibits courage. I expect great things from you Severus. Living up to your potential should be reward enough."

"What happened down there?"

Dumbledore walked over to the open terrace, stood right next to Snape and peered over the railing, "I will never tire of this view. Tell me Severus, have you made any travel plans for the summer?"

"Quirrell was not alone. Who else was in that chamber? Who really stunned me?"

"Please tell me you're not planning to spend another summer break brooding in the Hogwarts' dungeons. A little sunshine wouldn't hurt."

"I heard a voice from long ago…" Snape turned his steely gaze to Dumbledore. "…but I must have misheard. It's impossible…"

"Because it's not healthy, Severus, being cooped up inside the castle all the time. I think it's high time you saw more of the world."

"Who was the real thief Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a small object. It sparkled brightly in the sunlight, an amethyst shining a deep purple-red.

"And while you're away this summer, please do me one favor." Dumbledore tossed the stone to Snape. "Destroy this for me."


	24. What Goes Up, Must Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius decides to put the diary into action.

Severus Snape stared out into the approaching darkness, a pale luminescent moon shining bright in a cloudy black sky. He sat perched on a comfortable high backed chair with his legs crossed, an angry gargoyle – his eyes darting back and forth over a magnificent view. There was a large fountain to his left shooting water streaks high in the air, beautiful marble statues placed all around it. A freshly manicured green lawn stretched before him, the grass provided with more water than some villages. The lawn led to a large garden maze, the hedges trimmed in the shapes of fantastical beasts. A large white peacock could be seen wandering among the lawn, oblivious to the beauty it possessed. The Malfoy backyard garden and hedge maze was a truly magnificent scene, but it always had an ominous feel to it – as if the riches they possessed were tainted by an underlying malevolence. Snape never felt truly comfortable at the ostentatious manor, a common peasant would never feel completely at ease in rich cloth.

"And what do you believe Severus?" icily asked Lucius Malfoy, his question tinged with arrogance and entitlement.

"I…I don't know what to believe."

"Did he tell you it was the Dark Lord?"

"He did not say…"

"My mark had begun to tingle and now…nothing."

"It is the same for me Lucius."

Lucius slowly circled the stone patio that overlooked his garden maze. His mind thought back to the old times, when terrified prey was forced to flee within the maze, hunted down for sport, their cries ringing out…

Lucius yearned for the way it was, before the Dark Lord fell. He swirled an ivory chalice in his manicured hand, staring into the dark red wine it held. The rich bouquet floated up to his nostrils, filling him with lost memories.

"Is it?"

Snape turned towards Lucius. So arrogant, so brash…yet he was a friend. Well, at least Snape's pathetic definition for a friend was. Not someone who truly liked or cared for him, but rather, someone who spoke to him with a modicum of respect, didn't constantly berate him and occasionally traded favors. Still the man could be intolerable.

"Still wary of me, even after all the years we've known each other? After all we've been through together? Still I have to suffer disrespect at your hands?"

"What am I to think? What should our brothers think? With you playing lackey for that senile fool all these long years!"

"You're unbelievable, just like the rest of them!" Severus angrily spat as he rose from his seat. "We all did what we had to, to stay safe, to survive, to escape the bleak future of Azkaban. You convinced the Ministry you were imperiused! Walden claimed he had been coerced! Karkaroff turned on us and even named names!"

"Do not lump me in with that traitorous swine Severus!"

"Not all of us were born a Malfoy, could sneak our way out of prison by greasing the right palms. I should have rotted in jail like your precious sister-in-law? Gone mad just to prove my worth?!"

Severus was now in a rage, his voice raising higher. Lucius glanced back towards the house. He thought he saw a tuft of white hair flash behind a curtain.

"Severus control yourself. Lower your voice when you're in my house."

"Forgive me for discovering an escape opportunity and seizing it. It's cunning shrewdness when Lucius avoids punishment, but when the lowly Severus eschews those same shackles it's an act of betrayal and cowardice!"

Lucius did not answer, but rather turned away and stared blankly at the white peacock ambling about the lush lawn.

"You tell the other fallen who whisper behind my back – oh yes, I know what they say about me, the cowards who whisper falsehoods while hidden in the shadows – that I'm still faithful. For only He can judge me, only He knows my true loyalty. Tell the fallen they can no longer count on me. I will continue to serve the Dark Lord in my own way. It is only He who I must answer to."

"Calm down Severus. No knows who to trust anymore. But you've spent years with one of our greatest enemies, that muggle loving filth. You've had an entire year to exact retribution on the boy and avenge Him."

"Forgive me Lucius, for I'm just a simpleton, not as ingenious as you. I find it difficult to orchestrate the death of a child under the protection of Dumbledore and the entire Hogwarts faculty."

"The Dark Lord must be avenged! He would reward us beyond measure!"

"After killing the boy I'd be sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment. What would become of me? We do not even know if it was Him who appeared last year!"

"The Dark Lord comes before our wants, before our desires, before all!"

"Then you do it!"

Lucius and Snape stared hard at each other, heaving and panting. With a mutinous scowl, Snape swung on his traveling cloak and stalked off the patio. He headed for the front gate, black gravel crunching under his boot. Mistrusted by the Order, doubted by the remaining Death Eaters, welcomed by no one. Snape never fit in, was never fully embraced, a misanthrope in the truest sense of the word.

The moon emerged from behind a large cloud and threw relief onto the slinking figure.

Snape's face was as pale and gaunt as ever, but no scars were present. And his gait appeared spry, there was no telltale sign of the limp he suffered as a result the violence he endured at the end of the last school year. The dark magic injuries he suffered just months before had not lingered in the slightest.

When Snape reached the large metal gate guarding the entrance to Malfoy Manor, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vile – a viscous green liquid shone through it. He removed a small handkerchief from his breast pocket, delicately unwrapping it. It held finite pieces of a red dust, very fine powder. He tipped the red dust into the green liquid and watched the mixture turn a pale blue.

He downed the contents of the vial in one gulp, dropped the handkerchief and apparated on the spot. As the potent healing cocktail coursed through his body, he smiled to himself and gave a contented sigh. I should have saved more of it! Snape had promised Dumbledore he would destroy the fabled stone, for it was too powerful an instrument to keep intact. He had not followed his orders quite to the letter, but now…the last vestiges of the Philosopher's Stone were no more.

* * *

Lucius watched Snape walk up the long road to his home and disappear in a flash. Severus Snape – what to make of that man? Sullen and bellicose, always rubbing people the wrong way, yet a powerful wizard who would be vital to revitalizing the dark movement. He would be back, Severus never stayed mad at me for long. But could he be trusted?

Lucius' thoughts then turned toward more selfish designs. He had heard whispers that the Dark Lord had made an appearance at Hogwarts during the last school year, however nothing could be substantiated. Lucius felt a chill in the air and opened the patio door, entering into a lavish dining room. A handsome chestnut table lay in the center, on top of a handmade Persian carpet. Fine china in glass cabinets adorned the walls, with a large portrait of a scowling wizard glaring down at the head of the table. Lucius noticed the curtains moving, a shifting shadow concealed beneath them.

"Come now Draco, off to bed!" Lucius commanded. God, I hope the boy begins to exhibit some more quality as he matures. Lucius exited the dining room and headed for the basement stairs. Down a circular staircase and into an opulent office. Lucius locked the door and sat down at a large maple wood desk, the Slytherin crest carved into each of the desk legs. Pictures of his family lay atop the desk, along with pictures of Lucius hobnobbing with famous wizards and dignitaries.

Lucius ran his hands along the underside of the desk and pulled on a concealed tab. A loud click echoed within the room and the center of the desk slide open. Lucius reached in and withdrew a rather ordinary-looking leather bound notebook, a faded diary. It was quite plain and appeared as though it came from a common muggle bookshop.

Lucius opened the diary and flipped through the blank pages, as he had done a thousand times before. Nothing. Blood empty. He ran his hands along the pages, willingly something to appear. Speak to me! In the last ten years Lucius had come to his basement office a thousand times to study the diary, had casted a multitude of spells on it – anti-concealment charms, revealing spells, ancient incantations. But alas, the diary had refused to yield its secrets to the wizard. He knew others may have been able to elicit a response from the dark object, but he dared not risk showing to anyone.

The Dark Lord had given the diary to Lucius during the First Wizarding War, soon after Lucius had fought with valor during an attack on the Order. Lucius had expected a rich reward and was at first disappointed when presented with the diary. Lord Voldemort's shrill laugh still echoed in Lucius' memories…"Unsatisfied with your reward my faithful Death Eater? Fear not my soldier, for this book has powers you not yet know. It is a key, a key to unlocking a great power hidden deep with the school"…shivers ran through Lucius as he thought back to that day.

Had the Dark Lord appeared, finally, after all this time? Resurrected from beyond the grave? He had hoped Severus could have confirmed his hopes, but alas even he did not know. Lucius was left with doubt, more questions than answers. We had been so close back then, so damn close to achieving perfection…before that damned Potter child. Lucius closed his eyes, his mind rolling over the possible actions and associated outcomes. He spoke aloud to himself, slowly weighing the pros and cons of each scenario. When he opened his eyes some time later, he had finally come to a decision.

In one fell swoop he would kill three birds with one stone. He would ruin the reputation of that insufferable blood traitor Arthur Weasley, besmirching that family's name beyond repair; once and for all he would expunge the hallowed halls of Hogwarts of all that muggle born filth; and remove an incriminating dark artifact from his home. The Ministry had been poking around lately, a little too close for comfort. I will need to plant the diary on one of those red headed mutts, and the forthcoming havoc would then be traced back to them, if traced at all. All problems solved, a coup de grâce.

A wide grin spread across Lucius' face as he silently congratulated himself on such a clever plan. Lucius would remember this feeling of smug satisfaction with irony three years later, as he writhed around in agony at the feet of his risen leader. For the Dark Lord had told his faithful Death Eater that the diary was imbued with powerful dark magic and could open the Chamber of Secrets, thereby transforming Hogwarts into a bastion of pureblood power. But he had not entrusted his soldier with the most important fact about the diary. That is contained it more than dark magic, contained more than just a key…it contained a piece of a soul. A piece of the soul of the greatest dark wizard of all time.

Lucius ensconced the diary in black silk cloth and slipped it into his breast pocket. He closed the secret compartment in his desk, rose and left the office in a hurry, euphoria flowing over him at the diabolical simplicity of his plan. He was too excited to notice that he was not alone within the office. Two bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls watched him walk out the room, panic floating in the dark pupils. Harry Potter must not be allowed to go back to Hogwarts!


	25. Big Things have Small Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reminds Severus of himself.

The Hogwarts’ ‘Start of the Year’ feast was in full swing – expansive banners from the four houses were billowing from a gentle unseen breeze, the great hall was festooned in wreaths and golden furnishings, and delicious food was strewn about the tables. The mix of delicious smells, ringing laughter and nervous excitement coalesced into a merry atmosphere. The happiness that accompanies a warm homecoming was felt by all in attendance, save for one man. The malcontent wore a scowl on his face and an aura of sourness oozed from him, in stark contrast to the fanciful mirth floating all around. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder-length black hair.

Severus Snape grimaced at the gay surroundings, an awful rictus of a smile plastered on his face – social gatherings always put him in a state of uneasiness. Whereas the faculty members sitting around him were happily digging into their second helpings of meat and pie, he had not yet taken a bite from his meager plate. He kept shooting annoyed glances at the jovial Headmaster, who seemed oblivious to the fact that the school Potions Master was trying to get his attention.

Snape finally began to pick at some wilted lettuce on his plate when a hand clasped his bony shoulder.

“Severus, a word please.”

Snape quietly stood and followed Dumbledore from the Head Table to an anteroom near the back of the Great Hall. Only Professor McGonagall seemed to notice the two men leaving the party, everyone else was too busy laughing and eating. Dumbledore gestured for Snape to have a seat, before closing the door and sitting down across from the Potions Master.

“Well?”

Dumbledore answered by reaching into the folds of his strikingly purple velvet robe and withdrawing a thin scroll of parchment. He unrolled the note and tapped it with his wand – Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice boomed from within the paper.

_A magical car was spotted flying towards Hogwarts. We believe it’s Harry. Several muggles witnessed the car mid-flight and Ministry officials have been dispatched to deal with the situation. Word has leaked to the press, the Evening Prophet will publish an article later today. Let me know if the boy arrives unharmed._

The parchment the rolled itself up and jumped back into Dumbledore’s robes. Snape glanced at a table on his left and sure enough, that day’s edition of the Evening Prophet had a picture of a flying car splashed across its front page.

Snape sneered. “Of course, he just _had_ to make a grand entrance.”

“Now Severus, we don’t know exactly what happened.”

“Still you make excuses on his behalf?! You don’t even try to hide your favoritism anymore.”

Dumbledore held up a tired hand. “Severus, please…”

“Would you be so fond of the boy, I wonder, if that sordid hat had placed him in Slytherin? Answer me Dumble–…what? What is it? What’s wrong?”

Dumbledore had stood up in a flash and cocked his head to side. He reminded Severus of a dog who had suddenly gone very still, trying to locate the source of an annoying high pitched whistle.

“I believe your favorite student has just arrived onto the school grounds…or should I say crashed…”

* * *

_…“We’ll go and get our stuff,” said Ron in a hopeless sort of voice._

_“What are you talking about, Weasley?” barked Professor McGonagall._

_“Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?” said Ron._

_Harry looked quickly at Dumbledore._

_“Not today, Mr. Weasley,” said Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.”_

_Snape looked as though Christmas had been canceled. He cleared his throat and said, “Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature —”_

_“It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys’ punishments, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly. “They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility.” He turned to Professor McGonagall. “I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I’ve got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there’s a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample —”_

_Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office…_

…Dumbledore was halfway down the hall by the time Snape had cleared his thoughts and caught up to him.

“Headmaster I must insist you revisit your decision over tonight’s events. I don’t think you’re taking into account the gravity of the situation. The boy is not only a danger to himself, but to others as well – he would be much safer at home.”

“You don’t trust my judgement? Or Minerva’s?”

“I feel as though the two of you cannot be…impartial when it comes to Potter.”

“Harry? I strive to treat all my students fairly.”

“Fairly or equally? We are all human Dumbledore. It’s in our nature to favor some people over others.”

Dumbledore stopped just before the entrance to the Great Hall. Laughter and shouting could be heard from within, beckoning the two wizards to join in on the fun.

“Exactly Severus, basic human nature, and it works both ways. It applies even to you, no matter how hard you try to portray yourself as an uncaring statue. Have you not considered that maybe you’re prejudiced against young Harry? That you refuse to give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“He recklessly flew a car over London, risked the life of his friend and defaced a hallowed school tree!”

Dumbledore looked at Snape and then turned to look into the Great Hall, pondering. Snape stared hard at the tall Headmaster, a dark red flushing his cheeks.

“Yes, he did. But you had to admit,” Dumbledore poked the skinny teacher and smiled. “It was a rather impressive feat for a second year to pull off?”

As Dumbledore strode into the Great Hall, he quietly said over his shoulder, “He is a bit wild, has some anger in him, ignores the rules. Reminds me of another student I taught not so long ago…”

* * *

Severus stirred in lacewing flies and shriveled frog legs into his simmering potion, turning the hot liquid a light blue. Steam was slowly rising from the hot cauldron, giving off the faintest hint of licorice and spice – exactly like the textbook said it should. He risked a glance around the classroom, eager to see how the other NEWT level students were progressing with their adrenaline serum.

Professor Slughorn was fussing all over Alice McMahon’s cauldron – how the poor girl ever made it to this advanced potions level was beyond Severus. A few of the other students seemed to be progressing nicely, but none of their cauldrons gave off the tell-tale candy scent the way Severus’ serum did.

His eyes continued to rake across the room, but Severus was purposely ignoring a table towards the back – he finally relented and snuck a quick peek.

Lily Evans and James Potter were working at the same table, along with a chubby Hufflepuff boy. Lily was a whirling red haze, rushing here and there, chopping and stirring furiously, while simultaneously flipping through pages in her textbook. She had removed her school robes and had rolled up her dress shirt sleeves to allow her to work unencumbered. Sweat glistened from her brow and grime streaked her arms and face. Yet she was still the most beautiful thing in the room thought Severus bitterly – and he wasn’t the only one transfixed by her red magnetism.

James Potter’s serum was a vivid purple and the steam emanating from it smelt like sour apples, but he couldn’t have cared less about his subpar work. He was absentmindedly stirring his serum and pretending to read his textbook, but Severus noticed that he was actually sneaking sideways glances at Lily every chance he got.

James said something that caused the Hufflepuff boy to laugh and Lily to shoot him an angry glare and shake her head. But when she turned back to her textbook, Severus thought he noticed a small smile trace Lily’s lips. An angry lion roared in his belly! He felt like dumping his serum all over that cheeky Potter’s disgusting head. Arrogant little…

“Ahh Severus! Now what do we have here?” enquired Slughorn. The fat slug had soundlessly sidled up to Severus to inspect his work.

Severus quickly looked back to his cauldron and noticed that the potion had turned from light blue to a dark shade of cyan. Damnit! I should have made the last few stirs counterclockwise!

Slughorn leaned over the cauldron and took a long whiff. “Hmm, I do detect a faint hint of licorice, but for the serum to have optimal efficacy it needs to have the right amount of viscosity, it must be thicker. A tell-tale sign that it was on par would have been for the potion to have turned a light blue color by now.”

“It was sir, just a moment ago, but…”

“It’s okay Severus. Not perfect, but a darned good try. Can’t always be the best!” Slughorn gave the skinny teenager a pat on the back and slugged along.

Condescending ass – I can easily remedy this and the serum will still be perfect! Severus gave his potion two quick splashes of beetroot juice and the liquid slowly turned back to a light blue hue, but Slughorn had already made a mark in his gradebook and was now focused on another student.

Severus sighed and glanced back towards the Gryffindor couple. Somehow James had inched even closer to Lily and had his hand on her shoulder. As if sensing Severus’ prying eyes, James suddenly looked up at him and winked, arrogance dancing in his eyes.

* * *

Severus glanced around like a guilty man and then dashed into the bathroom. Technically, it _was_ a girl’s bathroom, so he always made sure the coast was clear before entering. But once inside he felt safe, secure in this cocoon. No one ever ventured into moaning Myrtle’s domain and he relished the peaceful solitude it afforded him.

“Who dares to bother…oh, it’s you. Mr. Mopey. Another rough day?”

Moaning Myrtle had been an overly sensitive, sulky girl for most of her life and she was even more petulant in death. Ever complaining and temperamental, she had the uncanny ability to depress everyone, alive or living, that she encountered. But this pale skinny boy who ventured into her bathroom every so often – he actually depressed her.

“Fine, be a gloomy guss. It’s no wonder you have no friends! Snivellus!”

Severus felt an icy cold gust wash over him and then…he was left alone in silence, with only the drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet to keep him company. He walked over to large metal sink and twisted open a copper tap, but nothing came out.

“Of course, it doesn’t work.”

He moved on to the next sink and let the cold water flow from its tap. He cupped his hands under the stream and splashed the liquid on his face, the cold water sluicing over his cheeks and down his hot neck. He looked up and stared at his reflection in the streaked mirror.

It’s no wonder she looks right through me, I’m a pale faced freak. Why can’t a wizard permanently change his appearance? Severus made a mental note to search the library for any related information– he would never dare ask Professor McGonagall, the school’s transfiguration teacher for help on that front.

Severus had never cared much for his appearance; he kept his hygiene at a barely acceptable level. He held other things in higher esteem – intelligence, loyalty, creativity. Why couldn’t his classmates value these traits too? Everyone was so obsessed with how they looked and who they hung out with. The world made no sense.

How is this fair? I can’t help the family I was born into, wasn’t blessed with wealth and riches. It’s not my fault my mom married that stupid muggle. I can’t help the way I look! That damned Potter, he had the looks, had the money – he must have been a god damned saint in his previous life.

I’ve been blessed with nothing, how can I be expected to live a happy life? How can I ever have someone like Lily?

Snape’s thoughts flashed back to a happier time during the last semester. Lily had been so happy Severus had denounced some of the crueler Slytherin students, she had unexpectedly given him a kiss on the cheek. She had turned bright red, her cheeks flushed as crimson as her hair. Severus brushed his fingers across his cheek, closed his eyes and relived the moment, over and over…

Severus opened his eyes, wiped away the final tears of regret, of lost chances. The pity party was over. His head drooped low as he ambled out of the bathroom and ran smack into a towering figure. Severus looked up and saw bespectacled piercing blue eyes staring down at him.

“Master Snape!” Dumbledore glanced towards the bathroom door. “Gotten a little mixed up this evening?”

“Umm, well…”

“Oh don’t worry, it’s of no concern. This castle has so many rooms, I myself get confused from time to time.”

Dumbledore grinned down at the young man, but Severus didn’t look ashamed being caught coming out of a girls’ bathroom…he looked crestfallen.

“You know, I’m just on my way to a late night errand and would love some company. What do you say Severus? Can you help an old man out?”

“Well, it’s rather later Headmaster…”

* * *

Two figures walked down the stones steps and into an open courtyard, their path illuminated by a bright white moon. Severus had grown a few inches during the previous summer, but he still appeared slight next to the tall figure of Dumbledore.

“How are classes going? From what Horace has told me, you’re a natural at potions.”

“Yes.”

“And how about your other NEWT classes? Are you enjoying them?”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore loved teaching and been at Hogwarts for a long time, so he was accustomed to sullen teenagers and their one word answers. He remembered his temperament at that age and could understand Severus’ reticence to speak, especially when all alone with the school Headmaster. It was hard to form a personal relationship with every child who passed through Hogwarts, but any opportunity to spend one on one time with a student was important to Dumbledore. And this poor lad always reminded him of a lost lamb. But judging from his school marks, he was an intelligent, very capable lamb.

“Thanks again for keeping my company, I do hate prattling on to myself. I also thought you might enjoy the opportunity to help collect some rare ingredients for the Hogwarts’ storerooms.”

Dumbledore smiled and gently put his arm around the young man. Severus involuntary flinched at the touch, a nervous shiver running through his skinny body. He immediately moved away from the Headmaster – a victim’s response. Dumbledore’s brow creased with sadness, wondering why the poor boy had expected pain at the touch.

The pair walked in silence across the school grounds until they arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a great bear of man and his excited hound waiting for them.

“Hiya Professor, and whose this wit ya?” asked Hagrid. Fang jumped up excitedly at the sight of the newcomers, his slobbering mouth in a wide grin.

“Hagrid! How are you this evening? Severus was kind enough to offer us his help.”

“Hello there lad. I told ya Professor, I can git Slughorn’s stuff right easy myself. Ain’t no bother at all.”

“I know you’re quite capable, but I must confess, I enjoy the walking around the forest just as much as you do.”

Hagrid grinned, giving a knowing smile. “Tis a beautiful place, innit? Dun no why the students are so scared of it.”

As Hagrid led the way into the forest, Dumbledore looked down at Severus, shrugged his shoulders and mouthed ‘Me neither’.

A few yards into the forest Hagrid turned to Dumbledore. “I’ll be goin left with Fang ter track down some ruppleberries, old snake skin and unicorn hair. That stuff ’ill be deep in forest, so lemme ’andle it. You two head off ter the right. There’s a few moon rooster nests and harpy pods over there.”

“Thank you Hagrid. See you in a flash!” Dumbledore led Harry off into a thicket. “Are you familiar with the creatures Hagrid mentioned?”

“I know moon roosters are small nocturnal birds, sir. But I’ve not heard of harpies. What are they?”

Severus may have been reticent to talk about himself, but his affinity for potions and rare ingredients got him talking again.

“Yes, moon roosters are nocturnal. They leave their nests at night to hunt, leaving their eggs unattended. And harpies are actually small feral pigs that live in the forest. I don’t know where they got their name, and no, these pigs don’t fly!”

Severus laughed and then lowered his voice, “Are we going to…kill a rooster and a harpie?”

“Would that trouble you?”

“No sir,” Severus replied a little too quickly. “I mean, as long as we’re not killing for sport I think it’s fine…right?”

“It’s an unfortunate truth that sometimes we must kill animals, but that’s life. Tonight we will collect rooster eggs, but all we need are a handful of tails from the harpies. Fear not, they have the ability to grow them back.”

Dumbledore pointed to a copse of large oak trees. “Moon roosters typically nest at the base of large oaks. Keep your eyes peeled, the eggs are bright red and gold, but the nests blend seamlessly into their surroundings.”

Dumbledore watched as Severus excitedly went about searching the tree roots, giving an excited yell every time he found a nest. Soon they were moving on to catch some harpies, a bag full of eggs under Severus’ arm.

“Somethings moving in the bushes!”

“It’s a harpy pod. Slowly, now.”

Severus dropped the bag and crept up to the moving bushes – he dove in headfirst. Squeals soon followed and Dumbledore watched contentedly as the teen ran carefree through the bushes trying to grab one of the little pigs. It lightened the Headmaster’s heart to watch the boy have some pure fun, even if it had to be at midnight in the heart of the Forbidden Forest for him to let his guard down.

Dumbledore finally took pity on Severus and waved him over. The boy obliged, panting heavily and caked with mud. His hands were empty and his second hand robes now sported tiny holes and tears. But he wore a big toothy smile across his pasty face.

“Sorry sir, they’re fast little buggers.”

Dumbledore answered by waving his wand at Severus, mending his robes. He then flicked his wand at the bushes and snapped it back towards them. A harpy sprang into the air and landed softly at their feet. It squealed and began to run away, but even though its legs churned, it didn’t move – it simply ran in place. Dumbledore reached down and gently pet the small pig across its back.

“Easy child, easy. We won’t hurt you,” the Headmaster crooned. The pig stopped struggling, slowly becoming docile. Dumbledore grasped the small body in one hand and stretched out the tail with the other.

“Severus, would you do the honors?”

“It won’t hurt the harpy, removing its tail?”

“It might sting a little, but the tail will grow back soon enough. And he’ll have terrific sorry to tell his friends.”

Severus was in his element, lost in this unexpected adventure. He knew creating spells was a unique talent, even among full grown wizards, and was secretly proud a few of his originals had escaped the Slytherin dungeons and were now known throughout the castle.

But there were a few spells he kept close to the vest. A handful that only a couple of other Slytherins knew. And there was one he was working on that he had not yet told a soul about. Without thinking, it sprang to his mind and he moved on instinct. His eyes became alight, not with hate, but with excitement.

Severus’ wand flashed through the dappled moonlight like a heavy blade. “Sectumsettus!”

An unseen hot flame flashed through the air – the harpy squealed as its tail was partially sliced, now hanging at an awkward angle, like a broken worm. Dumbledore was momentarily shocked, but quickly regained his composure. He waved his wand over the pig, its tail came off smoothly, and then it took off into the night, squealing in fright.

Dumbledore picked up the tail and handed it to Severus, staring at the young man very intently. Severus refused to meet the Headmaster’s gaze, realizing he had revealed too much in his excitement.

“I was expecting a simple cutting spell, or maybe for you to transfigure a branch into a small knife. That spell, that incantation…where did you learn it?”

“My grandfather taught it to me…it’s…it’s not ready…I’m not very proficient with it just yet…”

Dumbledore let silence hang between them while he contemplated what he just saw. Dumbledore was not so arrogant as to believe he knew every spell in the world – but how could one of my students know a dangerous spell like that and I not be aware of it? The tail had not severed completely, had the boy not cast the spell with conviction? Dumbledore tasted faint traces of dark magic in the air, yet now irreparable damage seemed to have been done to the pig.

“Where is your grandfather from?”

“He, umm, he grew up somewhere in Europe…sir.”

Dumbledore ignored the obvious lie. “Okay Severus. It’s getting late, let us take our leave.”

“We only have one tail!”

“It’s of no matter, Hagrid has some back at his hut we can take. And Severus, that spell you just cast – I must ask you not use it on school grounds. A cutting spell like that be volatile, dangerous. Especially if you’re not in total control of it.”

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to hurt the harpy.”

Dumbledore handed the teen the bag full of eggs – Severus grabbed it and quickly walked away, peering into the bag and pretending to studiously examine each one. Dumbledore trailed behind him, running over the possible explanations for the possible dark magic he had just witnessed.

“Severus, I hope you have enough confidence in me to be able to trust me completely. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

The boy replied without turning around, “No sir…nothing.”

As he watched Severus stomp through the forest, it never occurred to Dumbledore that the teen himself was capable of creating original spells, and such dark ones at that…

* * *

Snape was still standing outside the Great Hall as a rush of students flowed by him, bumping him out of his reverie. He had been lost in forgotten memories, reminiscing after Dumbledore’s casual aside about the past. He had been on the verge of scolding a rude second year who had trampled over his foot, when Draco Malfoy’s strident voice echoed loudly in the school corridor:

_“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”_


	26. More Questions than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is wrong about Harry.

It was a bizarre and chaotic scene on the second floor hallway – an ominous message had been daubed in blood along the corridor wall, a large puddle of water was soaking the floor and a cat was hanging by her tail from a torch bracket. The cat was unmoving, stiff as a board and a large crowd of students had gathered in the hallway, nervous muttering slowly growing into hysterics.

Smack dab in the center of the action were three students who always seemed to be in the middle of every strange happening at Hogwarts – Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermoine Granger.

Dumbledore pushed his way through the crowd and attempted to restore order. He detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket and led the three troublemakers away from the anxious crowd. Following closely behind them were Gilderoy Lockhart, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. A sobbing Argus Filch brought up the rear, barely able to hold keep his composure.

An hour later, Dumbledore had dismissed the three Gryffindors from Professor Lockhart's office and soon after a sniffling Filch had departed to take Mrs. Norris to the hospital wing. The three Professors and the Headmaster alone remained in Lockhart's office, the tense air filled by Professor Lockhart's constant babbling.

As the blowhard prattled on about some African king he had awakened from a deep petrified state, Snape's mind wandered from his disgust at Dumbledore's newest teaching hire to curiosity about what he had just seen – a racist threat and a petrified cat. What had attacked the animal? What type of spell could put a creature in such a frozen state without killing it? Snape could not fathom what type of magic was capable of that. And what was the boy hiding? It had been clear to Snape that Harry was lying, but about what?

"By the end of the trip I was completely exhausted, as you can well imagine," laughed Lockhart.

"That is an interesting…adventure Gilderoy," replied McGonagall, "But how exactly did you awaken him from his petrified state."

"It was quite a complicated process Professor. I would be, um, very difficult, to ahh, explain to someone not well versed in field of exotic potions."

"I _am_ the school Potions Master," sneered Snape. "I'm sure I could understand your complicated brewing technique."

"Oh no Severus, this potion is quite complex, definitely something you've never come across before. However, I'd be happy to whip up a quick batch for the Headmaster!"

Severus swallowed a nasty retort, as Dumbledore rose from his seat and cleared his throat.

"Thank you kindly Professor Lockhart, but I feel comfortable using Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape in brewing a restoration potion I'm familiar with. The mandrakes will be mature soon enough."

"As you wish Headmaster. You know, this attack also reminds me of another little excursion I had in India…"

* * *

"Cotton candy."

Snape despised the ridiculous passwords the Headmaster implemented, he always felt like a fool uttering them out loud. He was sure that one time the gargoyle statues, the silent protectors of the Headmaster's staircase, smirked at him after he uttered a particularly childish password.

The statues leapt aside and Snape walked through the now open wall and onto a circular staircase. He began to climb the stairs, even as the staircase slowly spiraled upward of its own volition. Snape did not bother knocking and walked straight into Dumbledore's office, plopping down on a comfy leather armchair.

Dumbledore had been talking to a portrait hanging behind desk and turned around to greet his Potions Master.

"Severus, my boy. Now what's this about a wolf amongst our flock – you believe a thief is roaming the school halls?"

"I'm sorry your highness, you don't think I come to you with a real problem?"

"There's something much graver concerning the school right now, I'm sure you are more than able to handle a case of missing ingredients. Perhaps you miscounted your stores?"

"You very well know that's not the case. It's not just a simple case of misplaced ingredients!"

Dumbledore let out a long sigh before pouring himself into his large desk chair. "Severus please, I've no desire to have one of our epic arguments. I believe that someone did take a few of your ingredients, but why does this trouble you so? It could've been a student trying to acquire something essential for a potion they're tinkering with. You and your classmates were caught a few times taking what was not yours from Professor Slughorn's stores."

"That was completely different! I'm missing boomslang skin, powdered bicorn horn – these are rare ingredients Dumbledore! And they're commonly found in complex dark potions!"

"Speak plainly Severus, what's troubling you so?"

"It's all connected – the petrified boy, the stolen ingredients, the hostile threats. It's open, isn't it? The Chamber it's…it's truly real?"

By this time all of the portraits in the room were not pretending to not eavesdrop, they were all openly staring. Even Fawkes had stopped sleeping and was staring intently at the two wizards, as if he could understand exactly what they were talking about.

Dumbledore measured his words carefully. "Yes, the chamber is real. It…has been opened before."

Snape was rocked. There had been rumors of such a room when he had been a student, but no one ever really believed them. A secret chamber hidden within the school? Its entrance that only a pure blood champion could discover and unlock? A mythical beast that lay dormant for centuries, patiently waiting? Fairy tales sounded more realistic.

"Before you were a student at Hogwarts, a student was attacked and died when the Chamber was opened last."

"My God, how was Hogwarts allowed to remain open?"

"The Ministry had gotten involved. They were…persuaded as to who the real culprit was. The student was expelled immediately and the supposed monster fled from the castle."

"Who was the pure blood savior to open the Chamber? Ho was he caught?"

"It's a long story Severus…"

"I've nothing but time tonight."

"Really? It's almost eight o'clock."

"So?"

"I was under the impression you were to be Lockhart's assistant this evening."

Snape let out a low growl while a few of the portraits in the room began to chuckle.

* * *

" _Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"_

It was part of Snape's job description to watch over the students and make sure they didn't hurt themselves – uncontrolled magic could have severe, even deadly consequences. But it is absolutely ridiculous that I'm now being made to chaperone unqualified idiotic teachers. Snape could not understand how Lockhart could have passed Dumbledore's vetting process.

Snape's head was also spinning from the quick yarn Dumbledore had just told him. Hagrid had been expelled for last opening the Chamber?! That fool of a half breed! The Ministry thought the secret beast had been a giant spider? The young Dark Lord had been the one to catch Hagrid? He had helped close the Chamber and save muggle borns from danger? None of it made sense.

Snape turned to face Lockhart and barely bowed to his _unworthy_ opponent. Snape should have been emptying his mind of all distractions, focusing on the duel at hand – but his mind was racing. The Chamber was real! Hagrid must know something – I'll get the mutt to talk. God does this fool every shut his mouth? Always talking nonsense. If I didn't know better, I'd say Lockhart's books were all filled with fabrications. There was no way this wizard could have done all he wrote about.

" _Expelliarmus!"_

_There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered._

_Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers._

" _Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together._

_Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end._

Snape shot Lockhart a murderous look, just daring him to ask for another demonstration. Instead Lockhart instructed the crowd to disperse and break into partners. After a haze of explosions and yells, it was decided that a volunteer pair might be a safer way to begin the dueling lesson. Snape seized on the opportunity and suggested Draco and Harry. While Lockhart tried to give Harry some quick pointers, Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear.

Snape had not yet made up his mind about young Harry. Rumors still swirled about the boy who lived, stories that he himself was a powerful dark wizard – how else could he have survived a killing curse and destroyed the greatest Dark Wizard of all time? He, a mere child, had just last year helped prevent the Dark Lord from securing the Philosopher's Stone. He must possess an innate dark power, have a strong affinity for the dark arts and their secrets.

Dumbledore would not even entertain the idea, but Snape believed that Harry was the one leaving the alarming messages, that he might possess the power to open the Chamber and command the power it bestowed. Dumbledore had mentioned that the one to open the Chamber would have to be a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. He alone would be able to discover the secret entrance and control the beast within. He would have to be able to speak Parseltongue…

" _Serpensortia!"_

Draco bellowed the spell Snape had whispered into his ear – a long black snake shot forth from his wand. It raised itself in front of Harry, fangs bared, poised to strike. Lockhart tried to dissipate the snake, but the fool only succeeding in antagonizing the serpent further. The snake hissed furiously in anger, exposed its venomous fangs and advanced menacingly towards a terrified Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Snape moved quickly to vanish the snake, but a strange hissing sounds stopped him. He turned in shock and awe towards Harry, who was loudly 'talking' to the snake. The snake seemed to understand the young boy. It slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its animosity gone in a flash. I knew it – Lily's boy was a Parselmouth!

* * *

Snape stood alone atop the Astronomy Tower, wind whipping his long black hair all around his face. He had passed Lucius on his way up here, his old friend had been seething with rage. He had angrily shoved Severus out of his way before stalking off the school grounds.

The school year had come to an end, and thankfully no one had died or suffered grievous injury. The Basilisk had been defeated, Ginny Weasley had been rescued and the Chamber had been sealed – all while Dumbledore had been banished from the school grounds. This Harry Potter, he was truly something else. How had the boy…

"I thought I might find you brooding up here."

"It's good to see you back on the school grounds Headmaster." Snape, along with the rest of the faculty, had felt anxious these past few weeks – a ship needed the steady hand of its captain.

"It was a strange feeling, not being allowed in the castle. I hope to never experience that again."

"You could have just ignored the governors, what do those fools know anyway?"

"We must adhere to the rules Severus, otherwise we are no better than common bullies or thugs."

"Even if the rules are twisted unfairly?"

Dumbledore stood beside Snape and gazed down on the courtyard below. It was a beautiful sunny day, as if the weather had decided to celebrate along with school. He handed Snape an old, worn down book. It was leather bound, with a deep puncture hole split down its middle.

"This is what caused all this year's havoc and fear – Lord Voldemort's diary."

Snape flinched at the name, his dark mark burned with indignation of the uttered name.

"This was the Dark Lord's?" Severus looked down at the broken diary with a mix of awe and wariness. "I don't…feel anything. What dark magic does it hold?"

"What powerful magic it did have is now long gone, our young Harry saw to that. What troubles me more is what it was able to do. It fully possessed the young girl, controlled her completely – just a mere memory of Riddle was able to wield such terrible power."

Dumbledore looked away from the panoramic view, and directed his piercing gaze towards his contemplative Potions Master.

"It seems you were wrong about Harry, he is no dark wizard."

"He survived a killing curse, can speak with snakes! We don't know yet what he is capable of."

"His is capable of love, of true courage and loyalty. Harry has those other abilities because Lord Voldemort does. He transferred them to the boy the night they first met."

"How is that possible?"

Dumbledore reached for the diary and Snape instinctively pulled away, not wanting to give up the dark treasure. After a moment's hesitation he handed it back to the Headmaster.

"Severus…I think it's time."

"For what?"

"This diary, the power it displayed…I am still not completely sure how Lord Voldemort has been able to survive all this time, but this diary could confirm one of my theories."

"Tell me what you know, I can help! How much more must I do to prove myself to you? If even you don't trust me by now, no one ever will!"

"I do trust you Severus, that's why I think it's time to initiate you into the Order."

"You told me that was unnecessary, that I would never be able to be trusted by the Dark Lord again!"

"There are things I want to tell you, secrets I want to share – that is why I ask you to join. Membership imbibes certain safeguards, proof of your loyalty that binds you to me completely."

"I gave my life to a master once before, never again will I become an indentured servant."

"You think I would relegate you to a servile peon? Come now Severus, I do hope you know me better than that."

"But what of my brand? How can I hold the dark mark and be able pass your initiation rites simultaneously?"

"There is light and dark in everyone Severus…but you…I believe you are the one wizard that can walk within both worlds."

The every optimistic Headmaster's confidence did little to ease Snape's concerns. I am no great wizard.

Dumbledore tucked the diary into his robes and walked away from the open terrace. He opened the tower trapdoor and beckoned Snape to follow him, but the Potions Master stood rooted to the ground.

To survive the branding of the dark mark, one had to possess more dark than light within their being. They had to truly believe in the Dark Lord, bare their soul to him, pledge an undying loyalty forever and always. They would owe fealty to the Dark Lord in this life and the next, there was no escape from service.

Snape's thoughts flashed back to a branding ceremony that he had been tasked to bear witness to. The acolyte had not been able to take the dark mark, he had tried to hoodwink the Dark Lord. Some said he was not truly devoted to the righteous cause, some said he had been a Ministry spy. The mark had burned him alive from the inside, turned his organs to smoldering ash, his blood to hot lava. Snape could still hear the screams ringing in the room even though it had been so long ago.

The mark was proof he possessed more dark than light within himself. How would he able to gain entrance to the Order as a dark wizard? How could he have enough light in him to pass Dumbledore's safeguards?

Dumbledore was wrong, I cannot walk within both worlds – the truth is I belong in neither, forever a vagabond and a misanthrope.


	27. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape pledges his life to two different masters.

Severus Snape knelt down in a dark cave, his white knuckles raw and bloody. His black robes were in tatters and wet tears streaked a grimy face. There was a small fire burning beside him, throwing dancing shadows along the rocky cave walls. The pulsating heat from the fire warmed Severus, yet a cold sweat persisted on his brow. His right leg shook uncontrollably, raging adrenaline still coursed through his body like an angry fjord. Faint voices hissed outside the cave, and he heard his name voiced by the unseen shadows.

Civilized society preaches that violence is never the answer, should only be considered as a last resort; it ingrains in us that the ultimate act of evil is to take another’s life. But Severus felt no shame or regret, there was no overwhelming disgust at what he had just done. But he also felt no joy or righteous acceptance, no soothing relief washed over his tired bones. He felt…nothing. Just a yawning emptiness – it was something that needed to be done and he had finally done it.

A dark specter entered the rock cave, floating in on a cold gust. The icy breeze washed over the fire, causing it wane down to a low burning ember – a signal for Severus to struggle up to his feet.

A soft voice seeped into his ear, “He’s waiting for you…go forth now, little brother…join us…”

Severus found his way out of the dark cave and into the gleaming moonlight. He stood on a narrow rock path, impossibly carved into the side of a steep cliff face. It sloped downwards, toward a sandy beach strewn with small pebbles and broken sea shells. He numbly walked along the path, staring at his tired feet – one foot slowly stepped in front of the other.

The sound of waves relentlessly crashing down onto the white beach kept time with his weary steps. He licked his lips at the wet night air, tasting blood and saltwater dew.

The path leveled out when Severus reached the sandy beach and he felt a sudden urge to tear off his tattered robe. The frayed material may have been threadbare, but without it he felt the sudden sting of the cold sea breeze. It gusted right through his undershirt, constricting his chest and causing small goosebumps to pimple along his pale skin. After a few steps, Severus kicked off his shoes – the grainy sand felt warm and inviting in between his toes.

Severus looked around – the sandy beach stretched for miles on end in either direction, with nary a soul in sight. He looked back up towards the rock face and saw nothing but jagged stone – the fire within the cave had consumed itself. Up ahead of him stood an old wizened tree, with a patches of grass poking through the sand around its knotted trunk. The tree was tall and skinny, glowing white in the luminous moonlight. It had long twisting branches, with only a few leaves dotting its snaky limbs. It reminded Severus of himself – strong and sinewy, yet ugly at the same time.

He walked past the old tree and waded into the foamy surf, letting the cold ocean wash over his tired body. The freezing water mercifully numbed his body, but could not wash away the horrible images floating in his mind. He stumbled backwards and eased his sore limbs down onto the wet sand. The tide slowly drifted up and kissed his outstretched legs, the cool water licking his aching muscles.

Severus stared out into the black ocean, moonlight dancing along the waves with the distant stars reflected in the water – a strange kaleidoscope of black and white twinkles. He dug his hands into the wet sand and rubbed the slick dirt between his fingers, trying to scrub away the dried blood and disturbing memories. He quietly sat there, blankly staring out at the vast expanse of sea water – time melded together and he wasn’t sure if he had been there for minutes or hours, when he was suddenly roused from his silent vigil.

“Rise Severus – come to me now.”

Severus was surprised at how high his heart leapt upon hearing the smooth, silky voice – its majestic owner ready to claim the now vacant paternal mantle. Severus struggled to his feet – the frozen sea air had stiffened his muscles and they screamed in defiance as he stretched out his skinny limbs.

Severus looked up and saw a tall, lithe figure standing alone under the old withered tree. The man wore fitted grey robes, black sandals and white gloves. His face was pallid and white skin was stretched taught across sunken cheeks. Only a few wisps of hair remained on a bald, smooth head – the strands were light golden blonde tinged with a white hue. He had a short thin nose and his eyes were small slits – dilated fire red pupils burned from deep within them.

The Dark Lord held out a gloved hand towards Severus, beckoning the teenager to come forth. Severus obeyed automatically, a supplicant yielding unquestioningly to a lifetime of obedience with this simple act. He stood shivering in front of the Dark Lord – his teeth chattering loudly and his body giving involuntary spasms against the cold sea air.

The Dark Lord gently waved his arm around and the cold night air vanished, replaced by a flowing hot breeze – it now felt as though a roaring fire burned fiercely right beside the tree. Severus didn’t notice the temperature change, transfixed as he was on the red eyes staring right at him. They were filled with intelligence and power and terrible purpose. They hypnotized Severus, as they did to most everyone upon whom they fixed their red gaze.

“You have been deemed most worthy Severus Snape, most worthy indeed. A true servant to the pure blood cause, a willing soldier, a holy knight born to serve the righteous.”

“Yes…my Lord.” The words poured out of Severus of their own volition. He somehow knew the correct response without prompt.

“You stand on the precipice of something beautiful, something truly grandiose. Are you ready for what lies ahead?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“The road will not be easy or straightforward. Very few wizards have traversed the golden path that lies before you. Sacrifices will be demanded, danger must be braved – your life may be the cost for our holy cause. Are you ready for what it is I ask of you? Are you prepared for this terrible crucible?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“Heed my words. Do not take my warnings lightly.”

“No my Lord.”

The Dark Lord reached out a long pale finger and tilted the young man’s chin up – His penetrating stare bore a deep hole down into Severus’ mind. They were two black pools of nothingness, darker than night itself. They screamed of anger, of terrible pain, and of a deep yearning to be acknowledged.

Severus felt a gentle warmth spread throughout his body, his finger and toes tingled as if pressed with tiny pins. He could sense a strange presence within his head – someone new now resided in there, mingling with his private thoughts. His mind instinctively raised up defenses against this foreign intrusion – unknown safeguards he did not know he possessed were triggered and sprang into action. But he felt these mind shields probed and ultimately discarded, for the Dark Lord was never to be denied.

Severus could feel distant, long forgotten memories unearthed and shaken loose – his mind fragmented into small pieces and was shuffled around like a jigsaw puzzle. But rather than feeling violated, Severus was completely at ease. He wanted to share his personal memories and thoughts with this new master – a brutal mind rape that he meekly submitted to and even welcomed. He longed for someone to share in his pain and suffering, to bear witness to the injustices inflicted upon him – he unburdened himself totally and completely to the alien host now nestled within his mind.

Lord Voldemort observed the squalid upbringing within a small home located at the end of a dingy street, bore witness to the neglect and abuse suffered by a scared child. He experienced the incensed resentment experienced by a sullen teenager constantly harassed on a beautiful school campus. He became the longing regret that resided deep within this young Slytherin from lost opportunities and scorned relationships. And most importantly, He tasted the violence and power buried deep within the heart of Severus Snape.

The Dark Lord released his newest servant from His mental grasp, the most accomplished Legilimens the world had ever seen…had just seen enough. Yes, this one would make a worthy soldier – so much untapped potential, if only they all harnessed such reservoirs of dark power!

But there was something else lurking below the surface of this boy, a troubling capacity for the light He wouldn’t have thought possible from someone so drawn to the dark. But it was of no concern, the Dark Lord knew that no one was truly light or truly dark – as a student long ago someone had once told him that it was the choices a wizard made – not his abilities and feelings – that revealed who he truly was. And this boy had made all the dark choices, all the _right_ choices.

“Severusss…I warn you one final time to consider the blood oath you are sealing. Once consummated, there is no release from my service, not even in death. I have the ultimate power – can haunt foolish traitors into the very afterlife, can reach into the great beyond. I demand unquestioned loyalty, complete obedience – I will not tolerate failure. You may still serve me faithfully as an acolyte, there is no shame in it. The service of a Death Eater is reserved for only the true believers, the ardent stars of the dark universe!”

“I am one of them my Lord! I believe!”

“I doubt you Severus Snape!” Lord Voldemort pushed Severus away and spat at his feet. “I was witness to a great many things hidden deep within your mind! Disturbing and most troubling images…petty friendships with the weak and feeble! Cowardice in the face of danger! And most unsettling of all – you’re drawn to the light!”

“No…no…that’s not true!” Severus stammered, vigorously shaking his head. The sudden shift in mood alarmed him – I’m so close to being accepted! To being part of a loving family! What was it he saw in my heart?!

“You couldn’t save your mother! You curried favor from filthy mud bloods! You allowed yourself to suffer humiliation and degradation at the hands of lesser wizards!”

“I – I – I was weak. I’ve learnt from those past transgressions. I seek to right my many wrongs. I want to become a better person, a stronger man…a powerful wizard!”

“Do not lie to me!”

“I’m not my Lord! Never to you!”

“What is it you truly want?! Tell me!” The Dark Lord’s voice thundered, a smoldering volcano ready to spew violence at any moment. “Tell me… _Snivellus_!”

The loathed childhood nickname cut through Severus like an angry whipsaw, triggering white hot shame to well up inside him and fill his heart – “I want knowledge of the dark! I seek power to unleash revenge!” Severus was panting now, a red gleam radiated within his vacant eyes. “I want to be known, to be feared…I want to be…RESPECTED!”

His anguished scream carried far across the beach, reverberating loudly along the jagged cliff face. Lord Voldemort wore a satisfied smile on his twisted face – I always learn the truth, for they all bare their secrets whole to the Dark Lord.

“I can deliver you from the evil of your past, teach you to rain down vengeance upon this world that has wronged you so. Follow the golden path wholeheartedly, bind your soul to me and you will unlock a power residing dormant within you, a dark power only a few wizards have been blessed with. Become what you were destined to be!”

Severus held out a shaking arm – scared and enraged and excited all at once. The Dark Lord grasped Severus’ left forearm in his left hand and turned the young man’s palm face up. A silver blade appeared in the Dark Lord’s right hand, glinting ominously in the moonlight. Severus waited with baited breath as the steel was held over his forearm, his skin suddenly burning in knowing anticipation.

The Dark Lord pressed the blade down into the waiting skin, red sticky blood bursting forth like a flowering rose. He slowly carved His gruesome symbol into his most recent initiate, taking his time and savoring the disfigurement. Severus yelled and screamed in uncomprehending pain, skinned alive, his flesh sliced right from the bone.

His forearm began to throb and his body trembled in shock, but Severus never yielded – he was determined to keep his eyes on the Dark Lord. Finally, mercifully, he was released from the iron grip and fell into a withering heap, his screams doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing, wrenching pain pulsing from his sliced forearm.

“Rissse…I said…RISE!”

Severus struggled to his feet, clutching his left arm tightly to his chest. Blood oozed from the deep cuts, the warm sticky liquid coagulating against his bare skin. The Dark Lord wrenched the injured arm free and waved his wand over the bloody cuts, muttering a dark incantation not found in any text on Earth.

Severus swayed unsteadily on the balls of his feet, threatening to pass out at any moment. But soon the throbbing pain subsided, replaced by a lukewarm sensation. He looked down at his arm – a coiled black snake now resided there. It slowly slithered in an eight shaped pattern, getting settled into its brand new nest.

Snape looked down at the snake and felt a sudden attachment to the serpentine brand. It was the missing piece in his inconsequential life, something that was always meant to be there. He looked up, desperate to again pledge his undying loyalty to the Dark Lord. He would be worthy of this noble honor!

But the Dark Lord had vanished into the salty sea air. Snape was left all alone on the sandy white beach, with only the moon and roaring waves to keep him company. He anxiously looked down at this left forearm, afraid it had all been a dream. But there it was, the infamous dark mark – the serpent stuck out its forked tongue, smiling at its new master…

* * *

…The faded snake grinned at its master – Snape fought disgust as he stared at his dark mark. The brand was darker than the previous year, but still very faint as compared to when the Dark Lord had been at the height of His powers.

“And do you solemnly pledge your loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix? Severus…are you paying attention?”

Snape looked up – piercing blue eyes nestled behind half-moon spectacles that rested on the crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore. The deep blue pupils were in stark contrast to the angry crimson flames of Snape’s other master.

“Yes, of course I’m paying attention.”

A nervous cough caused Snape to jerk his head around – he was standing on the far shores of the Great Lake, accompanied by Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Remus Lupin. The school castle loomed in the distance, a solemn witness to this curious scene.

Dumbledore was decked out in a splendid golden-orange robe, a bright red scarf draped around his shoulders. McGonagall and Lupin were draped in long silver robes with patterned red stripes crisscrossing their sleeves. Whereas Dumbledore wore an excited expression, the other two members of the Order were much less enthusiastic – wary looks painted across their brows.

Snape could not help but reflect back to his Death Eater initiation the ‘Last Rite’ – in such juxtaposition to Dumbledore’s Order ceremony. Why these two sycophants had to bear witness to my Order initiation was beyond me. I can feel their suspicion permeating each scathing look they shoot my way. I risked my life countless times to save their brethren during the last wizarding war and my thanks? Slander to my good name! They cast aspersions and sow mistrust behind my back! Their lack of respect is disgusting!

“Do you solemnly –”

“Yes, yes – of course I do!”

McGonagall and Lupin gave each other a knowing look, while Dumbledore simply looked bemused.

“And do you swear, upon your priceless soul, to never to reveal the Order’s most precious secrets? To never betray your brothers and sisters? To always be true to your solemn pledge?”

“I do.”

“Swear to me, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!”

“I do, I swear my allegiance to you!”

“Well done my boy!” Dumbledore exclaimed and then turned behind him. “Who bears witness to Severus Snape?”

“I, Minerva McGonagall, bear witness to Severus Snape!”

“I, Remus Lupin, bear witness to Severus Snape!”

The two Gryffindors then spoke in unison – “May he be received as a brother unto the Order, always protected, always cared for and always welcome!”

A golden red glow appeared around Snape, vibrating angrily and then washed away.

Dumbledore gave a quick clap, enthusiasm plainly evident on his face. “And now, for the final test.”

Snape had begun to turn away, but Dumbledore’s words stopped him in his tracks. What final test? He turned back to face Dumbledore and his two lackeys.

“A truly light wizard encompasses all that it means to be light – compassion, courage and of course, loyalty. The final test is to produce a fully corporal patronus.”

“What? When?”

“Right now will suffice. If you please?”

Snape felt a cold sweat manifest itself at the nape of his neck, for he had never produced a patronus before. Could a dark wizard even have the ability to cast one? The one time he had been in the presence of hostile dementors he had wilted like a weak flower on a cold day. The patronus charm had a simple incantation, but was notoriously difficult for even powerful light wizards to cast.

Snape did not doubt his magical proficiency, but he did doubt his ability to cast a powerful light spell that required him to be bursting full of happiness.

“Headmaster, I’m actually not feeling –”

“I really must insist Severus. The final binding to Fawkes, to the Order, to me, is contingent on this one final display of light. Come now my boy, you can do it.”

Snape looked between the encouraging Headmaster and his wary compatriots. He closed his eyes and thought of…what?

The silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity. Think! What made me happy? Truly happy?

Snape thought of the finest potion he had created, the first time he saw the school castle, an especially glowing compliment from a teacher…he thought of finally being accepted his housemates…the joy of being recruited to the Death Eater ranks, the acceptance he found there. His happiest thoughts were tinged with the dark, evil acts to which he had always been drawn.

“Expecto…patronum!”

A wispy white mist shot forth from his wand – a milky viper landed with a thud and began to slither to and fro. But it was hardly corporeal, its milky white scales crudely formed and barely visible in the sunlight. It slithered in an angry daze, unfocused and confusion. Its chalky eyes focused on a tall figure and slinked towards the Headmaster. It rose up and reared its hissing face in front of Dumbledore, baring its vaporous fangs and cloudy forked tongue and then…it melted away into the summer air.

McGonagall and Lupin instinctively reached for their wands and took a step forward – if a wizard could not produce a patronus than he was not truly light and darkness was the overriding force within him. And Snape’s patronus had seemingly tried to attack their leader! Dumbledore held up a hand to his brethren, momentarily staying their wand hands. He walked up to Snape, unperturbed by the bizarre spell just conjured.

“I – I don’t know what that was sir.”

“Rest assured my boy – I’ve heard of dark patronuses, but I’d never actually seen one until this very moment.”

“I didn’t mean for it to…attack.”

“You’re not thinking clearly and it was confused, drawn to me yet frightened at the same time.”

“It can…think?”

“Clearly you’re not focused, not consumed by a single happy thought, yet you somehow were able to produce a variant of the light charm – simply amazing my boy. But now you must focus, clear your mind, empty it completely…concentrate on a single happy thought.”

“I did! I was focusing!”

Snape’s frustrated yell stirred the two wizards standing behind him. They each took a step forward, slowly unsheathing their wands.

“What you just conjured was not borne from happiness my boy. Relief, comfort, fleeting contentment – those memories feel good, but are no substitute for pure happiness.”

“Nothing has ever made me happy!” Snape looked directly into Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes, then looked away. “Nothing.”

“Hers was a doe…”

Dumbledore walked away from his whisper, gently guiding the other two Order soldiers away from Snape.

Snape shook his head, but Dumbledore’s words didn’t leave him – her memory soon took hold of Snape’s thoughts. He always fought to keep her memory at bay, his mind had naturally developed barriers to suppress his feelings. These barriers kept her from his thoughts, but also affected the rest of his personality. They stifled Lily from his thoughts, but also warped his other emotions – they made him distant, cold…uncaring. It was a price he willingly paid in order to not feel the guilty sting of his betrayal. But he could bottle her up all the time.

A smile on someone’s face, a funny joke, an intoxicating scent – something would always trigger a thought of her and Snape would become overwhelmed. Memories of Lily would take hold and he would be able to concentrate on nothing else for hours at a time. During these times, Snape would lock himself in a room and shut himself away from the world – focus on creating a potion or a new spell while Lily whispered to him. She was his drug and he was the recovering addict, relapsing from time to time.

With Dumbledore’s whisper she slowly began to consume his inner core, the woman he had tried to bury far away from his waking thoughts. He couldn’t help himself, standing here on the shores of a calming lake, a gorgeous sunny day, surrounded by strong light forces…he began to softly cry, hating himself for showing any emotion in front of others.

He turned away and gazed out across the Great Lake, hot tears sliding down his checks and into his dry mouth – the regret tasted salty and sweet. Ripples shimmered on the lake’s blue surface, the merpeople floating below were drawn to the cries. The water reminded Snape of a vast ocean he gazed upon long ago…the moment where he took his first step down a dark path he had been trying to turn from ever since.

The doors in his memory house soundlessly opened, sunlight filtered in for the first time in months, warming the dark recesses of his mind. I’m so sorry Lily…I miss you so much it hurts. I don’t want to feel this way, I don’t want to still think of you. But it never stops hurting, I think about you every single day – you’re always in my thoughts. I never ever wanted to be the source of your pain, never wanted to destroy the happiness you had lovingly built. I was mad, I was angry…I was lost! So lost…

Snape flashed back to his childhood, little Severus secretly watching a beautiful red head laughing on a swing. Coveting a forbidden fruit amongst the trees in Eden. How could I have wrought such devastation down upon a sweet angel, wreaked such havoc on her life? The only person in the world who didn’t care what I looked like or where I came from – the only one who ever cared about me selflessly, altruistically, never once expecting anything in return except my company!

I don’t deserve peace, I don’t deserve happiness – I am due a lifetime of penance for what I have done. My actions merit agony, I am to be Sisyphus, forever carrying this boulder of regret.

Yes, she chose another…my rival…but I don’t blame you Lily flower. I was a mess, hated myself, reviled the world. I wouldn’t have chosen me either…I don’t blame you…

I didn’t mean to! It was a mistake…I’m so sorry Lily. I wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me, I swear to you I did!

I promise to protect your son. I swear it! On my life, in this world and the next. I swear to you he will be kept safe! He will survive! He will live! I promise you Lily…you will not have died in vain…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A stunningly effervescent light shone bright on the shores of the Great Lake, illuminating the air and blinding three stunned Gryffindors. They all took a step back, holding their arms up to shield their eyes, a brilliant light penetrating their very beings. A starry eyed white doe playfully galloped around them, impishly running in circles. It looked so real, so full of zest…so alive.

Behind the gorgeous doe stood a skinny pale man. He had shoulder-length black greasy hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin. Nothing in his appearance spoke of power or talent or a capacity of light. But his unassuming appearance belied the prodigious magical talent that flowed within his blood.

Severus Snape had enough dark in his soul to absorb the dark mark and live, yet he had such light within him to conjure a stunning patronus that could scatter a thousand dementors. How was this wizard able to walk within both worlds? How was he able to balance the two opposing forces, nimbly walk on the edge of a sword blade? Which path would he ultimately choose when the time came?

An eerie cry echoed out among the clouds and a dazzling red flame swooped low towards Snape. The reedy man held his right arm above his head and a golden red bird blazed towards him in angry arc. Snape closed his eyes, squeezed his right hand as tight as he could and grasped the flaming red tail of Fawkes. Both disappeared in an angry flash of fire – a single feather floated in the wind, the only evidence they had ever been there.

McGonagall appeared shell shocked and Lupin’s mouth was agape in dumbfounded amazement – there was light in the brooding Potions Master after all.

Dumbledore removed a silver handkerchief from his robes and lightly dabbed his misty eyes. He then turned to the newest member of the Hogwarts’ faculty.

“Welcome back to school Remus.”


	28. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin returns to school.

"Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

Severus Snape doubled over as if the air had been violently sucked out of his lungs. What? Not possible! He dropped to one knee, his head swimming in hazy confusion. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall continued to walk along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, their voices low with concern. Snape watched their retreating backs, but his eyes went unfocused…his heart tried to break free of his rib cage and fly away…hot bile slowly rose to his throat…how can this be…

"My boy, are you alright?"

Hands grasped Snape under his arms and lifted him upright.

"How…how is escape…possible?"

"Yes, Albus, how could he have slipped past the dementors?"

Dumbledore looked from the shaken wizard to the troubled witch. Yes indeed, how was escape possible?

"I honestly have no idea," replied the Hogwarts' Headmaster. "We know dementors are dark creatures, they allied themselves with the other side during the war. Some of them may have turned a 'blind' eye towards Black, maybe even helped him flee the island."

"Why now? After all this time, why did they decide to help him _now_?" McGonagall's voice rose an octave, she sounded tired and afraid.

"Again, I'm not certain what happened…"

"When did he escape?" Snape demanded.

"A few days ago –"

"And you didn't notify us immediately?!"

"The Minister thought it prudent not to publicize the escape and…excite the public at large. He was confident his aurors would capture Black very quickly."

"So why tell us now?"

"It seems now that the Ministry has absolutely no idea where Sirius is. They will be notifying the wizarding world tomorrow morning of what has transpired."

"My God," exclaimed McGonagall. "There'll be widespread panic!"

The three teachers slowly continued their trek along the forest's edge, each lost in their own thoughts. It was McGonagall who finally broke the silence.

"The boy will be in grave danger."

"Right you are Minerva. In fact, Cornelius is due to arrive at any moment to discuss just that. May I ask you to head to my office and receive him? I'll be along shortly."

McGonagall gave the stricken looking Snape a quick glance and then wordless stalked off towards the castle. Snape shrugged off Dumbledore's arms and turned to face the headmaster.

"How…is…this…possible?"

"I was being forthright earlier, I truly do not know how he did it."

"Oh really? The great Albus Dumbledore, world renowned wizard and Supreme Mugwump, doesn't know?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not all knowing and omniscient."

"Don't I know it…"

"We must now focus all our energy and attention on protecting young Harry."

"Yes, the little brat is always at the forefront of your mind. Will you allow him back to school?"

"Of course. Hogwarts is perfectly safe."

Snape gave a derisive snort. "He would be much safer at home. We both know that."

A large howl sounded nearby – it seemed to have come from the nearby gamekeeper's hut. Dumbledore turned in the other direction and quickly headed back towards the castle.

"I have _decided_ to allow dementors to be posted at the school entrances. Hogwarts will be more secure than ever."

"Decided…or told?"

"Severus, are you suggesting that I'm not in control of my own school, that I would knowingly endanger the child?"

"I'm suggesting that your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness."

"Using my own words against me now?"

"Come off it Dumbledore! Rumors of Dark Lord returning still echo among the shadows! And now Black has escaped, a supposedly impossible feat! And to top it off you have decided to hire one of his closest confidants – a filthy abomination! A mutant! A WEREWOLF!"

Snape's cry echoed across the night, reverberating across the empty school grounds.

"Do _not_ use such distasteful language in my presences. As you well know, there are some people who consider half-bloods lower than man."

Snape was too busy breathing hot anger to respond.

"Have you heard any whispers of Black? Anything at all?"

"You know damn well I would've told you if I'd heard anything. I haven't given that traitorous scum a moment's thought in the past ten years until tonight."

"Did you ever see him at any meetings? Ever hear Lord Voldemort mention his name, even once?"

Snape spasmed and absentmindedly began rubbing his left forearm.

"Never, not even once. But I was hardly the Dark Lord's favorite. He had spies everywhere, sowed mistrust among even his closest followers. Black could easily have been working for Him for years."

"I'm still shocked at his about face, the ease at which which he fooled us all. Such treachery I never thought possible."

"Of course you would've never anticipated that one of your beloved Gryffindors could turn dark, always thinking the best of everyone."

"I did all I could, Severus, to protect them..and to keep her safe."

"It wasn't enough!" Snape wailed into the night. Hearing Black's name after all these years, the fact he had escaped his deserved fate – angry feelings of regret and anger seeped into every fiber of Snape's being. His Occlumency and Legilimency training fell by the wayside; his baser emotions were still able to consume him at times.

They had reached the entrance courtyard, the castle's front steps loomed before them. Dumbledore turned to face Snape, grabbed the young man's shoulders and looked him square in the eye.

"I need you here and present this term. What is done, is done. Harry – and the entire student body for that matter – could be in grave danger and I need you focused on protecting them…not seeking forgotten revenge."

Snape closed his eyes and went back to that day, so long ago. He had caught up to Black, had him dead to rights, had the killing curse readied on his lips, but a moment's hesitation had caused Pettigrew to lose his life and Sirius to escape with his. If only I'd killed him that day, none of this would have be happening!

When Snape came back from the past and opened his eyes, he found two piercing blue orbs twinkling in the moonlight. He shot a subtle probe into those blue disks and Dumbledore let him flutter around his mind. Images of contrition washed over Snape, an old man's regret. But Snape also saw strength and a deep resolve to protect the innocent, a resolute desire to eradicate the coming darkness gathering on the horizon.

"Promise me Severus."

"Yes, alright. My word."

"And I want you to promise me one more thing."

"What now?"

"I want your word that you won't go _looking_ for Black…"

* * *

…" _Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast. . . ."_

_Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."_

" _They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly…"It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said…_

" _On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year._

" _First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."_

Snape felt a pang of indignation shiver through his body at those words – his thin sallow face twisted past basic anger and into pure loathing. For over a decade Dumbledore had traipsed out one buffoon after another for the DADA position. Each new professor had been worse than the one before! Each successive teaching appointment was a heavy hand of disrespect directed right towards me!

I'd made it plain to Dumbledore after a few years here that I'd prefer to direct the dark arts curriculum. Teaching potions was a frustrating endeavor, none of the students ever had the…capacity for it. Subtleness was not a child's forte and if something did not involve ridiculous wand waving it never held a student's attention for long.

I have dreams and desires like everyone else. I have aspirations for a fulfilling life beyond these stone walls! The dark arts are my passion, my specialty, my natural domain. They made me feel...alive! If only I were given the chance to submerse myself in them, I could teach the students amazing things. I could grow to be a powerful wizard, I could use the dark arts for good! Become world known, bring fame and respect to the school...to myself!

But alas, the old man continues to deny me what is rightfully mine. Continually mentions a jinx on the teaching post, as if there were such a thing. Each fool had ultimately caused their own dismissal through their own stupidity. Although the last two professors had departed with _severe_ health consequences.

And now the ultimate slap in the face! Snape glared at Remus Lupin, the ragged half man. If only people knew the truth! Snape's mind flashed back to that night, many moons ago. The terror that had ripped through his heart that night – he would be a shredded corpse right now if he had stepped into that room. Snape could still see the matted fur, the razor sharp claws, the hot breath, the glowing yellow eyes…could still feel the righteous wrath that coursed through him when he realized that Dumbledore was not going to hold the guilty parties responsible for their heinous actions.

I'm almost killed and the result is that _I have_ to protect the guilty, _I have_ to keep a disgusting secret? And now I was now being asked to protect the half breed once more! Never once has Dumbledore thought to consider my feelings!

And the Headmaster has asked one more ridiculous favor of me on the wolf's behalf – to spend what precious little free time I have on brewing the complicated Wolfsbane potion for the filthy beast. Snape shot Dumbledore a mutinous look – the Headmaster takes a great deal for granted! Perhaps I've changed my mind!

Snape directed his resentment back towards Lupin – member of the notorious four, one the Marauders, complicit in making Snape's teenage years a literal living hell. Snape loathed each one of the four, but in different ways. Sirius and James held a special place in Snape's hell, they resided in his innermost circle of hatred. Both were blessed with things Snape had once coveted – looks, athletic ability, social charm and most of all, wealth. And the bastards used these blessings as weapons, rather than wield them responsibly. Arrogant and condescending – those animals treated him like a subhuman. Worst of all, they took her from him. One stole her heart and the other robbed her of a full life. And now the twofaced heathen was roaming wild and free…

There was Peter Pettigrew, the chubby sycophant – the fat lump of clay always reminded Snape of a sneaky rat. The unctuous Pettigrew disgusted Snape, walking around blissfully entranced by the other two ringleaders. An original thought never manifested itself from his talentless body. Snape had often wondered whether or not the fat little boy had been in love with Sirius.

But when the chips were down and it had counted the most, when the time had come for true Gryffindor courage to be displayed, Pettigrew flashed his true colors. Everyone had misjudged him, Snape included. The young man had displayed valor no one knew he possessed. Although Snape was not sad Pettigrew had met an unseemly end, he had begrudgingly respected him from that day on.

And finally, there was the freak Remus Lupin. What infuriated Snape the most was the passive participation he played in the cruel bullying – never a fully active participant but never interfering either, always ignoring his conscience so he could be included in the group. Snape had once read in a muggle book that all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. The other three were born pampered, had a large amount of hubris within them – but not Lupin. He was born humble, had a compassionate heart. He had a moral compass, yet willingly chose to ignore it. A coward Severus Snape was not, and a cowardly lack of conviction was something he could never forgive. Ever.

Snape continued to shoot daggers of hate at Lupin – the wolf's presence at Hogwarts, his appointment to the DADA teaching post, and now the fact that his former running mate had escaped from Azkaban was almost too much for Snape to bear. An awful rictus of a smile was etched on Snape's face, as Lupin turned towards the other end of the high table…

…My God, I can see the hate emanating from him. Not that I really blame Severus – feelings of disgust flow through me as well whenever I see his scowling countenance. Regrettably, I think the animosity between us will never fade – the things we did to each other had been downright cruel.

Lupin turned away, couldn't bear to look at the pure venom swirling in Snape's face. The sad fact was that Lupin had grown accustomed to such looks of disgust. The life of a werewolf was a lonely one, filled with isolation and misguided prejudice. He was an outcast, unwanted and untouchable. In addition to society's rejection, he had to deal with unbearably painful transformations once a month.

Lupin did not come from a wealthy family and, although a powerful wizard, he had never been gainfully employed for long stretches of time. He did not hide his condition and had consented to following the law by registering as a wolf – but this had severely hampered his ability to find steady work and peace of mind. The registry had been touted as a necessary document that would benefit wolves and wizards alike, but Lupin had come to realize why so many wolves refused to register. It had haunted Lupin whenever he had tried to find work or buy land, the registry cast a stigma he could never shake.

And then there were the painful changings during each full moon. What little money Lupin could scrape together was always spent on tonics, potions, brews of all kinds; but the transformations remained as painful and debilitating as ever. Lupin had resolved to never put himself in a position to infect anyone and took great pains to isolate himself when he transformed, but being separated from humans to attack caused him to bite and scratch himself. He could not adequately control his behavior as the wolf – he became primitive, visceral, ruled by his baser instincts.

Truth be told, he would never have consented to teaching at Hogwarts if Dumbledore had not told him about the recent discovery of the Wolfsbane potion. The potion, if taken the week before a full moon, eased the physical pain of the werewolf transformation and allowed the man to keep his mind intact after becoming the wolf. Lupin could transform in his private quarters and curl up into a furry ball until the moon faded. The potion was a complicated bit of brewing, but then again, Severus had always been a genius at potions – the young man had been more proficient than even Professor Slughorn back when they were students.

Lupin hardly pitied himself, but recently he found himself praying for a cure during the lonely nights. What had he done in a previous life to have been dealt such a cruel hand in this one? Being back on the Hogwarts campus caused Lupin to reflect on his former friends. Two were dead and gone, killed by the actions of the third. He still could not believe what Sirius had perpetrated, what he had done to his best friends. What would life had been like if they had been able to stay together and the Dark Lord had not risen to power? For that was what Lupin missed the most…companionship…true friendship…

* * *

…Lyall Lupin could not have been a happier man. His marriage was going on six years strong and his beautiful little boy had recently celebrated his fifth birthday. The Lupin's had a history of frail constitution, but little Remus had been a picture of health. A precocious little boy with golden locks and boundless energy – my first born was destined for a great many things.

Lyall's was also achieving success in his work life, his career was soaring to new heights. He had become acknowledged as a world-renowned authority on non-human spirituous apparitions (boggarts, poltergeists and other dark specters) and had just secured a senior position within the Ministry of Magic – special advisor to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Unexplained disappearances and unrest among dark magical creatures had been growing for some time now and while the past few years had seen an unexplained spike in dark magical activity, Lyall's happiness was not to be denied.

Today the tall thin expert on apparitions had decided to walk home, because he wanted to blow off a little steam. Even with all his accolades, some of his new colleagues at the Ministry were not very impressed with his background. Apparitions, even dark ones, were not considered by all to be very dangerous creatures, and many times Lyall's suggestions were scoffed at and left by the wayside. Arrogant fools they were!

Lyall had been sure that the man brought in today had been a werewolf, but his recommendation to hold the man until tomorrow's full moon had been shrugged off and the man had been released. "Stick to ya boggarts!" had been his manager's reply, accompanied with some good natured laughing. Lyall was not to be denied – I will keep an upbeat attitude and win them over with my hard work and diligence!

As Lyall turned onto the winding lane that led to his new house, his indignation at not being taken seriously washed away. His father had once told him to 'never being your work home' and besides, who can stay mad when a beautiful wife and happy child were waiting at home for you.

A loud crack popped near him, snapping Lyall out of his reverie.

"Lyall! Thank goodness I've found you," panted a portly man sporting the dark green robes of the Ministry. "Cooper's body has just been found. He's – he's dead!"

Lyall stared in shock at his colleague. "What?!"

"That man you warned us about, the Greyback fellow, he attacked him right outside the Ministry before Cooper could cast a memory charm, torn to bits he was!"

"Oh my God – what – where – has he escaped?!"

"Yes, oh goodness. We should have listened! Cooper's body…all torn up…truly horrible…must, must get going. Wanted to let you know. Be careful for a few days. Werewolves – those dirty mongrels – can have nasty tempers, and with the full moon tomorrow I wanted you to be on alert!"

"Thank you Gregory. This is just awful, I just visited with him and Molly the other day."

"Yes, I – I have to go tell her now…I can't imagine…be safe."

Lyall rushed home, secured his house with security spells just to be safe, and spent the night in a cold sweat. When his wife had finally fallen asleep next to him, he rolled out of bed and made himself a drink in their large sitting room. Those fools! I told them that fellow's story didn't add up! And all his wolfish characteristics – any idiot could have seen what he really was! Werewolves were soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death. Dark creatures that infected and fed on innocent men, women and children! I'll take the day off tomorrow, spend some time with Hope and Remus…maybe now they'll start taking my recommendation more seriously…those fools…

Lyall sent a message the next morning to the Ministry, informing his boss that he was taking the day off. The reply was short, but apologetic, with a promise to take heed of Lyall's warnings in the future – 'We're in this together!'

After a large breakfast and a lunch picnic in the village square, the knot of worry in Lyall's chest unclenched and his demeanor brightened. The family spent the rest of the day shopping in the nearby town and then held a lovely barbeque dinner in their backyard with some neighboring families – Lyall was back to his usual happy self.

At the dinner, jokes and wine were being passed around, mirth floating all around. Lyall could not take his eyes off little Remus, broadly boasting about his son's bright future to his wife and their friends. But his optimistic declarations drifted out into the night and reached another's ears. Fenrir Greyback was lurking in the woods behind the house, watching the blissful father espouse on the brilliance of his son. Lyall's insults during his Ministry interrogation still swam in his head – the werewolf couldn't leave the area without settling his grudge.

Greyback had originally planned to kill the arrogant wizard who had threatened him, tried to have him detained, had called him soulless and evil! But now he saw there was something that the wizard prized more than his own life. Those Ministry thugs, pushing their prejudiced werewolf registry and draconian laws – they would have us shackled in chains or eradicated like vermin! Greyback spat on the ground, his angry thoughts bringing his blood to a boil. The goddamn Ministry of Magic, I'm going to see it burned to the ground, with all its bootlickers trapped within!

A cold mist rose from a nearby bog and began slinking through the forest and into the backyard, scattering the party goers. Greyback's glowing yellow eyes never strayed from the little boy with golden locks. Yes, the winds are finally changing. There is a darkness growing and the wizarding world is none the wiser. Soon, oh very soon, a new world order would rise. And werewolves would have a place at the table, no longer confined to lurk in the shadows.

The revelers had cleared out and Greyback watched as the arrogant, racist wizard tucked his boy into a small bed on a first floor bedroom and then headed upstairs to his laughing wife. He discarded his threadbare robes and slowly walked through the trees, the moonlight fighting through the green canopy and dappling his naked skin. He could feel the wolf itching it break free and run from within him. Greyback wished the wolf was present most of the time and the man only appeared once a month.

He stopped at the edge of the forest and placed a hesitant foot in the now empty backyard. A small shock ran through his body, but he did not flinch away. The wizard had placed strong protection charms to keep unwanted people away, but Greyback smiled. He was no pure wizard, his werewolf blood allowed him to move through the charms.

The naked man slowly made his way across the yard, staring at the large glass window on the first floor that framed the young child's bedroom. The freshly manicured grass felt like quicksand; he struggled to put one foot in front of the other as unseen strings sought to hold him to the ground, but the charms could not hold him back. Greyback closed in on the large bay window, stopping mere feet away. Suddenly, the window was illuminated with a bright white light. Greyback snapped his head up and saw the full moon peeking through a cloud.

It was gorgeous, invigorating sight – a bright white globe that pulsed with unseen power. It was the key to unlocking a great power residing deep within him. Greyback was proud to be a werewolf – he was stronger, faster, more powerful than any blasted wizard. It was his mission in life to turn as many people as he could, replenish the wolf ranks as fast as society tried to reduce them. As he bathed in the white moonlight, a prickling sensation overcome him. His whole body shivered in excited anticipation of the coming transformation, he lovingly welcomed the necessary pain that allowed him to become the wolf.

His skin began to stretch, his bones began to elongate, his teeth began to grow. Sickening cracks emanated from within his body – nose became snout, hand became claw, hair became matted fur. The pain felt amazing, Greyback was in an almost orgasmic state as his human body was torn asunder. He positioned himself near the window, wanting to be close to the child when he turned – the coming wolf would seek fresh blood. Greyback let out a blood curling howl – the transformation was complete.

The hungry wolf raked his glowing baleful eyes all around him, he could smell blood. It looked through the window and saw small child sitting up in a quilted bed, staring at him with disbelief. The wolf ran a long, slobbering tongue across its razor sharp teeth and threw its massive body into the window, showering the child with a million shards of broken glass. The wolf could hear loud footsteps pounding throughout the house, but it cared not – it could not feel fear, only pain and growing hunger.

The child was now crying, tiny scrapes opened all along its face. The blood smelt so warm…so inviting…I must slake my thirst! Greyback bounded over a char, grasped the boy in his large paw and bit into the tender shoulder. The razor sharp teeth sank into the soft skin like a butcher's blade into a soft pig belly. Blood spurted everywhere, showering the wolf and child in a warm red blanket. The wolf threw back its head and slurped the hot red liquid – it tasted like ambrosia, pure nectar from the Gods. The wolf barely felt the streams of red and green that slammed into its body, it looked down and was only focused on the small neck of the child. One more bite, just one more bite…a stream of red light smashed in to the werewolf's face and he dropped the screaming child.

Remus fell onto the glass covered bed and then bounced into a well – a limp ragdoll wearing a harlequin pattern of tears and blood. Lyall's screams pierced the night air as he fired spell after spell into the huge beast – streaming jets of light shot forth from his wand and smashed into glass, wood, fur…

* * *

…The loud scraping of hundreds of chairs jerked Lupin's eyes up from his soggy potatoes – the welcome feast had ended and the students were busy chatting and heading off to the dormitories to sleep away their large meals. Lupin blinked away the past, tired of reliving that night so many times before. He could still feel Snape's eyes upon him, shooting bitterness his way. He absentmindedly began rubbing his left shoulder, fingering a long jagged scar, a token left by a vicious animal from so long ago…


	29. In 'God' we Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius comes back to school.

Severus Snape wore his usual pouty scowl, frustration plainly evident on his face. It was his usual demeanor after most of the potions classes he taught. He had told the insufferable know-it-all not to help that fat idiot with his potion, but of course, the Gryffindors never listened to a damn word he uttered. He should have deducted a hundred points from their house! His black robes billowed angrily in his wake as he stomped through the Hogwarts' dungeons, wary students giving the muttering potions master a wide berth.

Snape stopped outside the door to his private office with a grimace – the doorknob always changed color when someone was present inside and there was only one wizard clever enough to bypass his protection charms. Snape opened the door to find Albus Dumbledore in his living quarters, standing over a steaming cauldron and giving the orange liquid simmering within an appraising stare.

"May I help you?"

"Just taking a quick peek at the new potion, I've read all about it but had yet to see it in person. Doesn't give off a particularly nice scent, does it?"

Snape swirled about the cramped room, grabbing different ingredients from various shelves and fussing over the cauldron. He painstakingly dropped in different bits of animal, insect and plant at carefully timed intervals, gently stirring in the contents. His eyes continuously darted towards a clock on the wall, timing his every move with precision.

"Come to make sure I don't tamper with the wolf's tonic? Why don't you just ask someone else to do it then?"

"Whether you believe it or not, you're the wizard I trust the most when it comes to potions – and I would never believe you would knowingly make a mistake with the brewing. And I must admit, I'm impressed you already know the recipe by heart."

Snape continued to stir the potion with a gentle touch most would not believe he was capable of – the orange color slowly turning into a strikingly vibrant ginger.

"I'm running low on gillyweed and pixie dust."

"I'll alert the staff my boy."

"What is it that you want Dumbledore? I'm rather busy right now…as you can see my precious free time is now dedicated to serving a half-man beast that's been allowed to prowl our halls."

"What do you think of my new hire?"

"I've already told you my thoughts on this ridiculous situation."

Dumbledore let out a long sigh – goodness me, sometimes managing the faculty was more trying than watching over the students. "Severus please, I would like to collect feedback from the faculty before I give my performance report to the board of…"

"I still think it's a colossal mistake allowing him back onto school grounds. And the tenuous situation is now exacerbated with his treacherous best friend running around looking for blood!"

"I'm well aware of your personal feelings towards Professor Lupin, I'm not naïve enough to think that you two will become best friends this school year. But I am interested in your professional assessment of him."

Snape continued to stir the bubbling ginger potion in sullen silence.

"I do value your opinion Severus…"

Snape kept his eyes on the potion, his waxy complexion reflected back at him with an orangish tint.

"I think Remus is…I think he has the students' best interest at heart. I think he is capable of teaching rudimentary and basic concepts, but lacking in experience and talent to teach the DADA curriculum at advanced levels. But most importantly I think that he's a danger to the students and it sickens me that you would ever jeopardize the children just to make a point!"

"And what point is that?"

"That everyone has goodness in them, everyone just needs an opportunity to shine. He's a danger and when the time comes he will help Black! You're always seeing the light in people, never the dark. No matter the overwhelming evidence – you believe everyone is worthy of a second chance!"

Dumbledore gave the potion one final look and headed for the office door. Before he walked across the threshold, he hesitated.

"Your words echo the concerns many voiced about you when Lord Voldemort fell and I think I made the right decision back then, as well as now. Thank you again for brewing the potion."

An hour later Snape found himself outside Lupin's office, carrying a hot smoking goblet…

_…The door opened, and in came Snape. He was carrying a goblet, which was smoking faintly, and stopped at the sight of Harry, his black eyes narrowing._

_"Ah, Severus," said Lupin, smiling. "Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?"_

_Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin._

_"I was just showing Harry my grindylow," said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank._

_"Fascinating," said Snape, without looking at it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."_

_"Yes, yes, I will," said Lupin._

_"I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continued. "If you need more."_

_"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."_

_"Not at all," said Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn't like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful…_

…Snape gently closed the door, nausea washing over him. The boy looked just like him! It was if Lupin had his running mate back, James once again roamed these hallowed halls. Hurtful memories enveloped Snape as he walked down the hall, as raw and potent as ever. As Snape turned the corner an unlucky second year Hufflepuff ran into him, eyes glued to a new text book. The poor child received the tongue lashing of a lifetime and a week's worth of detention for his clumsiness.

* * *

A large black dog poked its head out of the dark brush. It had mangy fur, dark black eyes and a skeletal frame – it appeared as if the dog had suffered a lifetime of mistreatment and malnourishment. It raised its large snout and sniffed in the cold night air – satisfied, the dog leapt out from the shadows into an empty cobblestone street and headed towards a darkened shop. The dog pawed at the latch of large window, nudged it open and wiggled its large body inside.

The shop room was dark, but moonlight was shining through the window and illuminating all the counters. Dazzling colors sparkled all over, shining displays of all types of candy and spice gleamed before the panting dog. It looked about in wonder for a few seconds and then headed behind the main shop counter. It stopped before a door and tried the door knob, but its giant paw could not make the knob turn. It seemed as though the dog was finally stumped, but then, impossibly, it shook violently and blended into the shadows. The next instant a grubby looking man was standing before the door.

He was a dark mass of grime and dirt – filthy, matted hair hung down to his elbows, a few grey strands intertwined with jet black locks. If bright, intelligent eyes hadn't been shining out of dark sockets, the man could have been mistaken for a corpse. Waxy skin was stretched so tightly over his face that it appeared as a gleaming skull in the dappled moonlight. His yellow teeth were bared in a twisted grin, triumph etched on his face.

It was Sirius Black. Back from the dead. Reborn.

He turned the doorknob and headed down to the cellar of Honeydukes. The shop room was now empty, small dirt streaks on the floor the only evidence an intruder had been there. A few seconds later Sirius walked back into the shop room. He took a quick look around, grabbed a few handfuls of chocolate covered frogs and headed back down to the cellar. Seeking vengeance is hungry work.

* * *

The Fat Lady was quivering in her portrait, the sickly zombie had appeared out of thin air and had been hurling threat after threat in her direction.

"I did not brave the frozen walls of Azkaban, survive the deadly North Sea and traverse miles of open country to be denied by a slovenly pig! There is a murder in there and I need to find him! Open UP!"

"I – I – I cannot permit you to enter sir. I can only admit Hogwarts' students and staff, and then on – on – only if they have the correct pa – pa – password…"

"Open up now or I swear on everything that is holy I will slice you to bits, only cloth scraps will remain of you!"

The Fat Lady began to cry, her eyes darting to the sides of her portrait as she prepared to flee. The angry zombie began to shake with rage and in the blink of eye disappeared – in his place stood a hulking black dog. The animal bared its razor sharp teeth and began swiping its large paws at the portrait. The Gryffindor hallway was filled with the shrieks of the Fat Lady, the cackling laughter of Peeves and the angry growls of a terrible beast.

* * *

Snape marched quickly along the darkened hallway, a loud chiming echoing within the castle walls alerting him that it was three in the morning. He had just finished searching the third floor, not a whisper of the traitorous scum was found. Snape's heart beat faster and faster as he approached the Great Hall. Could the rumors be true? Had Black breached the castle walls and attacked that stupid portrait? He gently opened a large door, careful not to wake the hundreds of sleeping students…

_…"Headmaster?" It was Snape. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."_

_"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"_

_"All searched . . ."_

_"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."_

_"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape._

_"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."_

_"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before — ah — the start of term?" said Snape, who was barely opening his lips._

_"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice._

_"It seems — almost impossible — that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed —"_

_"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," said Dumbledore, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn't reply. "I must go down to the dementors," said Dumbledore. "I said I would inform them when our search was complete."_

_Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left…_

…Snape caught up to Dumbledore just as the Headmaster was descending the front steps.

"Headmaster…Dumbledore sir, wait, please."

A swirling mass of hooded figures waited impatiently several yards ahead as Snape rounded on Dumbledore.

"Please sir, I must ask you to reconsider the evidence."

"Not now Severus!" Dumbledore's tone took on a hardened stance. The night mist was cold, misery wafting from the ground. The dementors' presence seeping into everything and infecting the very air.

"If it's true and he was here tonight, then he must've had help from within, the castle is impregnable!"

Dumbledore looked past Snape, to the agitated dementors restlessly waiting for him to deliver the results of the search. Then he slowly turned his attention back to his young potions master.

"No person within these walls is helping Sirius Black breach our defenses and commit murder, trust me. Lupin loathes his actions just as much as you and I do. But I cannot control everything, there are paths contained on these grounds that even I am unaware of. And you forget, the castle can reason and act for itself. I've been thinking…perhaps the castle does not perceive Black as a threat."

"Are you serious? You think it's more plausible that Hogwarts' is actively helping Black, rather than his erstwhile best friend?"

"Listen…"

"No you listen! I'm going to get proof, incontrovertible evidence of Black and Lupin's treachery – and then watch as you beg for my forgiveness! You old fool!"

Snape marched back up the stairs, roughly pushing past a group of teachers who had collected at the front entrance.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, turning over the insult in his mind. Another, from long ago, used to call him that. After what seemed like minutes, Dumbledore finally headed towards the waiting dementors...

...A pair of large yellow eyes had been observing Snape's tantrum from a dark corner of the front courtyard. As Dumbledore disappeared into a swirling black mist, the yellow eyes slinked back into the shadows, one thought racing through its mind. Moony is here?!

Sirius remained noiselessly in the shadows until Dumbledore returned to the castle and the dementors were long gone, drifting back to guard the school entrances. The dark creatures were getting restless indeed, they rarely found themselves near so many potential victims. Their proximity to all these emotions was getting to be too much to bear. And now a sighting of their escaped prisoner!

Just as Sirius felt it was safe to quietly head down to the Forbidden Forest, an orange flame shot by him.

"Hello there friend…come for another night time chat?"

"I heard you attached the Fat Lady – I thought you said your intentions were noble?"

Anyone walking by that dark corner of the front courtyard would have stumbled across quite a peculiar scene. A large black dog growling and whining towards a small ginger cat, who seemed to be responding to it with gentle purring. The cat was bowlegged and its ginger fur was thick and fluffy. Its face looked grumpy and oddly squashed, as if it had run head first into a stone wall.

"You know there's something wrong with that rat, you can sense it."

"Tis no animal, a disturbing malevolence surrounds it."

"It's a man, a filthy murderer and traitor. If you truly care for your new girl, your owner, you'll help me catch him and pay for his sins."

"He's not concerned with her."

"He's intent on killing her friend, her best friend. And he will not hesitate if she gets in the way…he has killed before…you know this to be true."

"What do you want from me?"

"The tower is protected by passwords, they'll be changed daily from now on after my actions tonight. You must get me the passwords, all of them if possible – you must help me get into that tower. Innocent lives are at risk every day that I'm kept out of there."

Crookshanks eyed the filthy dog – it too gave him a sense of unease. Just like the rat, she could sense this animal was not what it seemed – it was…human. But the dog spoke the ugly truth, its words rang true.

"I'll get you into that tower – eradicate the vermin from the school once and for all."

"Thank you my friend. You'll see, I've no intention to hurt any of the children."

"I just want my owner safe…now tell me something. What exactly are you? Man or beast? And how did you get all the way to Hogwarts?"

"It's a long story…"


	30. Idle Hands are the Devil's Workshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius has enough of Azkaban.

James Potter wore a look of pure unadulterated terror on his ashen face. He was lying flat on his back in a darkened room, whose contents were strewn about in a haphazard manner as if a tornado had blown through. His untidy black hair was freckled with dark red blood and his glasses sat askew on top of his broken nose. His front lip was swollen and a large cut had sliced open along his right cheek. The rest of his face sported an assortment of plum colored bruises. Screaming could be heard above him – something or someone was squealing in fright.

A large white hand raised up slowly, hung in the air, and then smashed down into James’ face with alarming ferocity. James slid along a scratched hard wood floor and crumpled into a wall covered in flowery wallpaper. He struggled up into a crouch, defenseless, and began to whisper, “Help me…help me…somebody please…help me…”

A dark shadow loomed over James, stretched out ominously over his prone frame. Laughter – an unsettlingly evil timbre – was the only response his pleas received. James opened his eyes and looked up at the menacing specter. Fear and panic mixed with a grim realization of his impending fate.

“Please…Sirius…help me…”

* * *

…Sirius Black woke up with a start, a cold sweat on his brow even though his icy stone cell was well below zero. He began to cry and buried his face deep into his cold hands. I should have been there…

He had been imprisoned in Azkaban for only a few weeks, but time had come to a standstill and it already felt like a lifetime in his mind. What little sanity he had left was hanging by a thread and his body had already started to show startling signs of deterioration. He had lost over fifteen pounds, clumps of hair had begun to fall out and he hadn’t showered once since his unceremonious arrival on the island. He had watched unbelievingly through his cramped cell window as someone had come to rescue Snape from this hell, but he had now come to the grim realization that no one would ever be coming for him.

He had been reliving nightmare after nightmare since his first night imprisoned within this stone fortress – his thoughts had been dominated by all his past regrets and transgressions: antagonistic fighting with his mother, scorn and disappointment given from his father, running away from home, strained relationships with his extended family, frustration and anger over Regulus’ disappearance. But now his every moment had been tormented by his life’s greatest blunder – his last minute decision that had cost James and Lily their lives.

Each dream – nightmare was a more apt description – ended with James’ severely injured and begging for salvation. Why, oh why, did I have to go and change the plan at the last minute? Was I scared of the enormous responsibility? Had I cracked under the pressure of keeping such a precious secret?

No – Sirius Black was not a coward. He had truly believed switching Secret Keepers had been the right move – a stroke of genius at the eleventh hour! No one would ever have guessed Peter was to be entrusted with such important knowledge. The Death Eaters and the megalomaniac who ruled them would chase Sirius across the world and even if they did catch up to him, James and Lily would remain safe and sound. But alas, Sirius had encouraged his best friend to put his faith and trust in the wrong person – condemned James and what he loved most dear to a horrible fate.

What had happened that night? How had little Harry slay the dark terror that was Lord Voldemort?

Was Harry the chosen one? The Boy Who Lived – was he the savior of the wizarding world? Maybe it was fate, maybe destiny could never be changed, maybe Sirius was not to blame…?

As the weeks stretched into months, which inevitably funneled into years, Sirius was initially sustained by one thought – his innocence of his alleged crimes. He was no Death Eater, he didn’t support He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had not murdered Pettigrew and taken twelve innocent lives.

But even the nourishing knowledge of his innocent eventually faded away, for he was guilty of other transgressions. His innocence eventually became a feeble belief and after a five years’ time he began to lose his mind completely. Gone was the confident, handsome Gryffindor who had the world in the palm of his hand – the world was no longer his oyster. Gone was the sharp, acerbic wit that could enrage and captivate in one breath. The movie star looks and brilliant mind had been replaced by a broken shell of a man.

Sirius’ long flowing black locks were now a filthy tangle of matted hair. There was an ever present film of grime and muck that clung to his skeletal frame and his skin was dotted with persistent sores. He became accustomed to the smell of urine and feces that permeated his cell, now his only friends were the vilest of insects and rodents. His eyes had a permanent glossy look to them – cataracts were beginning to develop over his black pupils, threatening to snuff out what little intelligence remained lurking within them.

Sirius developed a persistent cough, with each breath now accompanied with blood and mucus. His muscles had deteriorated long ago and Sirius had completely pushed past the point of emaciation. His belly was distended and he could not remember the taste of simple foods like chicken or rice.

But even though his appearance and health was beyond the pale, the state of his mind was worse. He could not remember the simplest of tasks and was slowly reverting back to a childish state. He would laugh and cry in no discernible pattern and began talking to the cold night air. His crazy, unintelligible conversations would ring out through the night, terrifying even the hardened criminals in other cells.

Eventually Sirius’ mind began to take him back to his past, the only refuge it could find on the bleak rock that was Azkaban. He began imagining that James and Remus visited him to chat about their classes that day, Peter would stop by for some advice on his charms homework. On many nights Sirius played chess with Regulus, talking contentedly with his brother about their bright futures – a happy relationship that had never existed. He even dreamt Snape would drop by from time to time and mock him as though Sirius was in detention and not trapped a prison cell. Once the hallucinations ended he would slowly regain some control of himself and realize that none of it was real…but eventually he began to welcome and perpetuate the fantasies, lonely as he was.

The conditions in his cell were among the harshest in the prison. He was kept in isolation on the topmost floor, the other cells near him purposely kept vacant. Round the clock guards, sucking up every morsel of happiness that would manifest from within him. Intermittent showers, non-existent room to exercise, and lack of food were just some of the deplorable conditions he was subjected to.

Ministry officials would stop by the island intermittently to ostensibly check on the prison conditions, but no one felt much remorse for how the convicted killer was treated. They would badger him with a few questions about Lord Voldemort and then ridicule him, for many had lost close friends to the Death Eaters. “He’s gone completely nutty” was the common report taken back to the Ministry.

In his sixth year of internment, Sirius Black finally went insane.

His sanity had completely slipped away – the complete isolation and lack of proper nourishment had finally broken the proud Gryffindor. He joined in with the twisted chorus coming from the other cells, high pitched laughter that lacked all sensibility or mirth. He screamed at nothing and at everything. He held conversations with the dementors, with his rotted food, even with the stone walls of his cell.

One dark and stormy night Sirius was engaged in a fun conversation with his fellow Marauders – laughing and joking around, talking smack and planning their next adventure at Hogwarts.

“Come off it Padfoot, Cersei wants nothing to do with you!”

“Yes she does, she can’t take her eyes of him!”

“I heard you made out with her instead of going to the dungeons and finishing your detention!”

“Detention? What did the idiot do this time?”

“Gave some Slytherin and Ravenclaw seventh-years red and gold whiskers before the last Sunday feast! A poor Hufflepuff student was initially blamed for it!”

The four friends rolled around in laughter – there’s not a care in the world when you’re a teenager and having fun with your friends. They were the gang of four. They were the Marauders. They owned Hogwarts.

“Come now, it’s almost the full moon! Let’s get going!”

The hallucination was so real, Sirius truly believe the three figments in front of him transformed into a stag, a rat and a werewolf. With a sickening crunch, Sirius transformed into a large black dog and bounded after his friends. There was a loud thud, an ear splitting crash – Sirius had sprinted head first into the stone wall of his cell, cracking bones and fracturing his skull.

He woke up hours, maybe days later. As a hazy pain fog lifted, his senses were assaulted by a litany of sights and sounds – he could feel throbbing pain, taste fresh blood, smell rotting food. He tried to stand up but his legs were not following his commands. He looked down and saw fur – he was a dog! My God, I’ve gone completely around the bend!

It took a few minutes for the shock and incomprehension to wear off, and finally Sirius realized he had transformed into his animagus form. He found that the dementors’ gloomy aura did not penetrate his being that easily when he was Padfoot. He could sense things clearly, it was if a cold fog had slowly been lifted from his mind.

His head was ringing something fierce, his skull felt as though it had been split open, but he had his wits about him again. He licked up what remained of the rotting food and closed his eyes. It felt good to be able to think somewhat clearly again.

* * *

By the twelfth year of his wrongful incarceration Sirius Black had settled into a comfortable, albeit boring routine. And today was no different.

Padfoot groggily opened his eyes – dim sunlight had penetrated the ever-present clouds that surrounded the island and was seeping into his cell. He gave a great big yawn, running his long pink tongue across razor sharp teeth. He uncurled his body from the tightly wound ball he always tucked himself into before falling asleep on the cold floor his cell. He stretched his long limbs as much as he could, for his cell was uncomfortably small – an odd kind of animalistic yoga.

He let out a long howl and began gnawing on a pile of bones in a corner, leftover trophies from rats he had become adept at catching. He trotted over to a small window and stood up on his hind legs – a small basin composed of broken stone and metal had been crafted and was rigged up just outside the window sill. A night’s worth of fresh rain had collected and Padfoot swallowed the precious water up with a few big slurps.

Thirst slaked, he dropped down from the window sill and began scratching at the cell door, shaking his muzzle and letting out small whines. Soon the door slowly opened and a dementor floated in. Scabbed and rotting hands appeared from beneath a dark cloak and dropped a small tray of rotting food and muddy water onto the cold cell floor. The tray hit the ground with a crash, spilling most of its contents onto the dirty floor.

The dementor could barely sense this particular prisoner anymore. It could sense a very weak life force in the cell, dearth of any happiness with barely a trace of any kind of emotion. With such a weak life force, surely this wizard would soon perish. The dementors could barely sense Sirius when he was Padfoot, let alone affect his mind. The unregistered animagus had discovered a way to cope with the dark aura of the dementors that drove most men insane.

The dementor swept around the small cell, and satisfied the being in the cell was simply weak and not dead, turned to leave. As it slid shut the cell door it didn’t sense the large skinny dog that padded out of the cell right behind it. Sirius Black was a high security prisoner and the Ministry demanded that two dementors always stand guard outside his cell. But dementors were fickle creatures and the Ministry had no real control over them. They roamed free on Azkaban, drawn to the freshest prisoners still full of emotion. Black had been emitting such a low life force ever since he discovered the protection afforded to him when he transformed, that his guards frequently abandoned their post to be closer to more ‘tasty’ prisoners. Today was no different.

The black dog watched the dementor lock the door and then float away towards another cell, where terrified screams were echoing forth. Today Padfoot felt compelled to visit the tenth floor and check in on his cousin. He padded down a long stone hallway, passing a blind dementor guard every so often. The dementors would float right by him, barely able to feel his canine presence.

Padfoot could still feel some of the gloom they reflected, but it was nothing like the depression and pain he experienced as Sirius. He came to a large metal gate and had to patiently wait until a dementor floated by and opened it, making its hourly guard rounds. The dog slipped through the gate and descended a few floors till he found the hallway he was looking for.

He stopped near the farthest cell on the floor, where several dementors floated excitedly in front of it. He had hoped to get a look at the current state of Bellatrix Lestrange – her unkempt and miserable appearance always gave him a fleeting moment of satisfaction. He would sometimes whisper to her, twisting her mind and putting a fright in her. She wasn’t always affected by his visits though, sometimes Padfoot wondered if she actually liked it here. But today it seemed as though she was having one of her infamous fits. Her screams and yells had attracted a flock of dementors, the black clad demons drawn to the pain and frustration emanating from the witch.

Disappointed, Padfoot headed back down the hallway. Maybe he could sneak down to the first floor and watch the swirling ocean for a while. The waves had a soothing, calming effect on his frayed nerves – the closest thing he had found to a relaxing sight in this hell. But when he reached the large circular stairwell that ran through the center of the prison, he heard something that made his blood freeze. The large black dog looked around in panic, the gate to the floor was locked and there were no dementors in sight.

Padfoot began barking madly and roughly pawing at the gate. Voices began to rise from below – normal human voices, not the guttural sounds that came from the dementors!

His incessant barking finally caught the attention of a patrolling dementor. It opened the gate and floated around, trying to sense the cause of the commotion. Padfoot bounded past the creature, knocking it to the ground. The dog looked back as it raced up the stairs – the dementor’s hood had fallen away and two scabbed over eye slits set deep in a gleaming skull looked wildly around. Padfoot panted hard as he took the stairs five at a time, the voices below spurring him faster and faster.

When he reached the topmost floor, mercifully, the gate was ajar. He raced through it and skidded to a stop outside his cell, no dementors in sight. He could hear the voices from below, heard the name Sirius Black mentioned, and began to whine in panic. He pawed at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

The voices were clearer now, he could hear Fudge’s nasally voice tinged with fear while being in the presence of the dementors. Padfoot through his body at the bars of the cell door, forcing his skinny frame through the bars. He pushed with all his might, squeezing his body through. It felt as though his ribs would break, his lungs squished empty of air – he would become trapped between the bars, caught in his animagus form. The repercussions would be swift, his precious secret uncovered.

Pop! Padfoot slipped through the bars just as Fudge rounded into the hallway, flanked by a cadre of aurors and dementors.

The Minister of Magic would later recount how unnerved he was at the sight of Black that day. Most of the prisoners sat in a dark corner of their cell, rocking back and forth, muttering unintelligible gibberish, or were so wracked with grief they could barely speak. But when Black’s cell door slid open, Fudge found himself face to face with a seemingly… _normal_ man.

Yes, Black was filthy – wretched and caked with grime. Yes, he was gaunt, emaciated and malnourished. His cell was a pit of squalor and his robes barely more than a few dirty threads. But his eyes…they shone with a bright, dark intelligence that should have been extinguished, snuffed out by the dementors long ago.

Fudge was quite unsettled by the calm, even polite, demeanor Azkaban’s most notorious prisoner exhibited. He left the cold cell a few minutes later, leaving Black with a timid wave, curt goodbye and a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet. Black’s playful smile slid off his face as Fudge left him and the cell door slid shut.

He stared down at the paper in uncomprehending shock. His headed pounded in confusion, his eyes became unfocused – he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Nausea whirled within his belly and bile rose in his throat. His thoughts became a jumbled mess, feelings and emotions he thought abandoned him long ago came flooding back – long dormant whales of passion burst from within him and breached the surface.

Sirius slumped to the floor with a terrible wail. His cries were loud and screeching – the pain they represented drew dementors like flies to honey. He unleashed welled up angst that had been building for twelve long years. Sirius had come to accept his unjust captivity, he had come to terms with his lot in life. He had decided to live out his remaining years on this bleak rock without putting up a fight – to spend the majority of his pathetic life as a dog, subsisting on rodents, insects and rotten food. He believed this miserable fate was penance for his one great mistake.

But his acceptance of this grim future hinged on one incontrovertible fact – the true traitor to James had paid the ultimate price for his deception. Sirius’ mind raced back to that day so long ago – he had cornered Peter on that crowded street. But what had he truly seen? He had seen the crater blown into the street, saw the dead bodies, the blood and the gore…but he had never seen the traitor’s body. What a fool he was! He had underestimated Peter back then, had been underestimating him still lo’ these many years!

Anger, frustration and hate flowed through Sirius. A group of frenzied dementors had congregated at the entrance to his cell, sharks gathering to the fresh scent of blood in the water. The cell door rattled and began to slide open, the dementors wanted a taste that had been denied for so long. Sirius looked down at the paper on the ground, Wormtail sitting on the shoulder of a young boy. As the dementors closed in on him in a swirling black mass, Sirius began screaming one phrase over and over again.

He would repeat it as sick mantra over and over again for the next few weeks – utter it when he was awake and mutter it in his sleep. The same phrase over and over again. He would repeat it as he slipped through his cell bars, snuck down the long, spiral stair case and skulk down the front steps of Azkaban. It would replay over and over in his mind as he impossibly braved the rough waters of the North Sea and navigated thousands of miles of hilly land in the English countryside.

The phrase kept him warm on cold nights, kept him satisfied when he went without food, kept him lucid while his current plight threatened to turn him insane.

_“He’s at Hogwarts…he’s at Hogwarts…he’s at Hogwarts…”_


	31. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is up to his old tricks again.

_“GET — HIM — OUT — OF — HERE!” Ron bellowed as Crookshanks’ claws ripped his pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a misjudged kick at Crookshanks that hit the trunk at the end of Harry’s bed, knocking it over and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling with pain._

_Crookshanks’s fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tinny whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle Vernon’s old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor._

_“I forgot about that!” Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope. “I never wear those socks if I can help it. . . .”_

_The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it._

_“You’d better take that cat out of here, Hermione,” said Ron furiously, sitting on Harry’s bed nursing his toe. “Can’t you shut that thing up?” he added to Harry as Hermione strode out of the room, Crookshanks’s yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron._

_Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back into his trunk. All that could be heard now were Ron’s stifled moans of pain and rage. Scabbers was huddled in Ron’s hands. It had been a while since Harry had seen him out of Ron’s pocket, and he was unpleasantly surprised to see that Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny; patches of fur seemed to have fallen out too._

_“He’s not looking too good, is he?” Harry said._

_“It’s stress!” said Ron. “He’d be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone!”_

_But Harry, remembering what the woman at the Magical Menagerie had said about rats living only three years, couldn’t help feeling that unless Scabbers had powers he had never revealed, he was reaching the end of his life…_

…Ron left the bedroom, taking his surly attitude and Scabbers to the bathroom. Harry was left alone, shaking his head in disbelief at the strange happenings that had been going on around him. It seemed as though drama followed him wherever he went. His third year at Hogwarts’ was somehow turning out to be even crazier than his first two years combined. Snape and Slytherins seemed to loathe him more and more as each day passed and haunted his every move. Homework and demanding quidditch practices were absorbing every moment of his spare time. A psychotic murderer was lurking about, who apparently wanted nothing more in life than to place Harry’s head on a stake.

And now Hermione’s cat appeared to have developed an extreme vendetta against Ron’s rat. Harry foresaw quite a bit of quarreling on the horizon between his two best friends, for which he would no doubt be dragged into playing mediator. Harry knew cats and rats were natural enemies, but Crookshanks seemed to be taking things much too far – poor Scabbers!

Harry had just noticed how weak and pathetic the rat had looked – the pathetic little thing must be on its last legs. Ron complained all the time about what a useless and lazy pet Scabbers was, but Harry could read between the lines. Harry knew Ron would be devastated if his childhood pet died, no matter how much he complained about it. Harry glanced at Hedgewig and a tight lump formed in his throat – he knew what a special place pets could have in their owners’ hearts.

Harry’s thoughts moved from the sad state of Ron’s pet to the new broom lying on his bed, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen – a brand new Firebolt! With this marvel of wizard engineering by his side for this year’s gaming season, the Quidditch Cup would reside with the Gryffindors for sure!

Ron trundled back into the bedroom in a slightly better mood, but Scabbers was still squealing and trying to wriggle free from his owner. But by the time the two best friends headed downstairs for the Hogwarts’ Christmas brunch, the broom and quidditch had their undivided attention and Ron’s pet rat was snuggled up quietly in his blankets.

Wormtail watched the two young boys exit the bedroom, heard their excited voices echoing the hallway. How he wished he was younger, back to a time when all he cared about was Quidditch and homework. He took a deep breath and slowly took in his surroundings with beady little eyes. The empty bedroom was filled with festive wrapping paper, gold and scarlet banners with lions inlaid with jeweled beads and scattered textbooks. Wormtail scurried out from under Ron’s covers and sat on a large window sill, looking down at the Hogwarts’ campus. Snow was lightly falling, giving the ground a gentle white blanket.

What in the goddamn hell was going on here? How was any of this possible? How had Black uncovered his secret? How did that animal escape the dark fortress in the North Sea? This while situation had seemed inconceivable only a few months ago. He had thought living in shadows as a pathetic household pet was a miserable enough existence. It had been a boring, yet comfortable life – not quite the future he imagined, but peaceful enough. He deserved such tranquility after the turmoil and danger he had to endure during the First Wizarding War.

After setting off the huge explosion on that crowded street so many years ago, Peter transformed into Wormtail and lived in the sewers under London for several months, surviving on discarded food and muddy water. When the Dark Lord had failed to survive the Halloween attack, Wormtail accepted that he would have to make his own arrangements to secure a safe future.

He knew he would have been safer settling down with a muggle family, but he was loathe to leave the wizarding world entirely. He also wanted to have the opportunity to stay current with happenings in the wizarding world in case the Dark Lord rose again. Many of the rats he came across in his travels mentioned rumors of His return, of a dark menace that lurked in the shadows.

Wormtail had snuck into a magical pet shop one night, many months after his ‘death’, and had quickly been purchased by a studious-looking young boy with flaming red hair. It had been a rather smooth ride for Wormtail since that fortuitous day in the pet shop. The Weasley family wasn’t wealthy, but what the lacked in monetary wherewithal, they more than made up for in love. Wormtail had been rechristened Scabbers and settled down into a comfy life.

The long summer days were spent eating leftovers from the kitchen table, sitting in the warm shade of the sun on the grounds of the Burrow and snuggling up to a loving owner at night. The mistress of the house was an amazing cook and treated him so tenderly, always tossing him bits of tasty meat and cheese while she cooked.

The burrow was surrounded by wide open spaces and at night Wormtail would find the courage to explore the nearby grounds. He would roam open meadows, chasing down worms and small insects. When he was feeling especially melancholy and reminiscing for his ‘human’ life, he would transform into Peter and walk the Earth as a man once again. He began to ‘run away’ for days at a time – visiting sketchy pubs and disreputable bath houses with money he pilfered from the very family housing and feeding him.

Soon it was time for Percy to head back to school and the majority of the year was soon spent at Hogwarts – Wormtail’s old stomping grounds and the place where he had been the most content. The initial trip to school had terrified Wormtail, he thought he would die of anxiety on the train ride. Would he somehow be spotted? That old fool was still running things and might be able to sense him!

But after a terrifying few weeks, which he spent mostly cowering in Percy’s pockets, Wormtail settled down and even began to enjoy Hogwarts once again. Being back on campus reminded him of his Marauder days – the happiest period of his life. He would scurry off and explore the school grounds while his owner was in class, and he soon discovered nooks and crannies that even the famed Marauder’s Map did not show.

Eventually the Weasley clan welcomed a sweet young daughter into their fold, whom Wormtail could immediately tell would grow into a beautiful young woman. He found himself sneaking into her room at night to watch her sleep – how innocent, how lovely. He could easily transform into Peter while she slept, he could easily…no, no, it wasn’t worth the risk! I must control myself.

He was cared for, well fed and loved as Scabbers – he had more than enough, more than he deserved. But what he had the most of was time. During the first few years of his time as Percy’s pet he had suffered from anxiety and depression, for his duplicity had wrought the destruction of two of his best friends. James was now a cold body, part of the hard ground. Sirius was locked away forever in the worst place on the face of the Earth. And I sent them to these terrible fates! Wormtail was haunted by their faces, their cries of anguish echoed in his mind as he tried to sleep.

As the years passed, Wormtail began to develop another view on what had transpired so long ago – history is written by the victors and survivors. Was it really his fault? Should I feel so guilty? Honestly, what could I have done? Would anyone in my situation done anything differently? The Dark Lord had power the Order knew not – He had weapons none possessed – for He was the most fearsome and powerful dark wizard of all time. What could I have done? Fought him?

In fact, it was the Order’s fault that the war had gone on so long and they forced my hand. They should have protected me better, treated me with more respect! I was always given the most mundane assignments. Ferrying people back and forth to meetings, watching over children that had no bearing on the war. James and Sirius had stopped including me towards the end, and even gentle Remus, where was he when I needed him most? They were all supposed to be best friends, best friends forever. But once James married _her_ everything changed. They were the new gang of four – I was replaced by that vindictive bitch.

Wormtail had always been smart, smarter than anyone in the Order ever gave him credit for. He had read the tea leaves, sensed the tides were changing. It had been so obvious – the Dark Lord and His Death Eaters were going to win the war, the Order was a sinking ship destined to crash amongst the rocks. Switching sides had been the safest route, the obvious move to anyone who had their eyes open.

Was he supposed to die in anonymity, in a dark corner somewhere – an ignominious death just because his friends were stubborn and headstrong and refused to see the light?! No, he wouldn’t sacrifice his life for such an unworthy cause, wouldn’t get himself killed for friends who never truly cared for him. He would earn a place at the new table. He would secure a future with a leader who knew what he was doing, who had the vision to lead wizards to a golden future, who had the power and strength to change the course of humanity itself.

Wormtail was a survivor.

* * *

A lump formed in Sirius’ throat and an earnest sensation enveloped his body – the warm, fuzzy feeling one gets when seeing a long lost friend. As he stepped through the open portrait hole and crossed the threshold to the Gryffindor common room, happy memories came roaring back to his fractured mind. Carefree jokes, exciting adventures, time spent with his best friends – it felt as though he was finally coming home after a long, arduous journey.

A warm fire was blazing and not a student was in sight in the Gryffindor common room. Scattered streamers and party favors were strewn about the room – remnants from the epic party the Gryffindors had thrown earlier that night to celebrate their resounding quidditch victory over Ravenclaw.

How amazing would it feel to sink my tired bones into one of those cozy armchairs by the fireplace, just melt into the fabric and drift away to sleep? Sirius stared longingly at the fire – his eyes went unfocused as he wished with all his heart to go back in time and relive the happier times of his youth. After a few minutes Sirius snapped back to reality – his eyes narrowed as he stared at the staircase that led to the boys’ dormitory.

Sirius gently eased open the door to the Gryffindor third years’ bedroom. He made quite an intimidating sight – filthy matted hair, torn robes and a skeletal frame. His face wore an unsettling scowl and smelt as if he had not had a proper shower in his entire life.

“Peter…where are you Peter? Come out and play…”

Sirius’ whispers floated into the room, just soft enough to not wake the slumbering boys. Sirius rifled through trunks, bookcases and closets. Peter had always been a coward – Sirius was sure the rat would come scurrying out in fright at any moment. But after a few minutes of rummaging, Sirius still had not spooked his prey. In fact, he had found nothing!

Twelve years of wrongful imprisonment can do quite a bit of damage to one’s psyche and personality. Sirius suffered many mental degradations to his true nature – terrible anger and impatience were now overriding traits of his. He picked up and threw Ron’s trunk against the wall in a moment of frustration. As the trunk slammed into stone, Sirius ripped open Ron’s bed curtains and unsheathed a long silver blade. He pushed the shocked boy aside and began stabbing the mattress, ripping open the bedding and destroying the fabric underneath.

Ron stared in uncomprehending disbelief for a few seconds as a terrifying, ghostly specter materialized from thin air and raged down on him. The menace appeared to be trying to stab him, but was somehow missing his body. Pure shock coursed through his entire body and left through his toes. Ron then unleashed a piercing howl – the kind of cry only a scared child can manage to produce.

The yell woke Sirius from his angry trance and he backed away quickly from the yelling teenager. As bodies began to stir from the other beds, Sirius realized his poorly organized trespass had come to an end. He cast an angry glance around the bedroom and took off for the staircase. He bounded down the stairs and tore through the portrait hole – headed straight for the statue of a one eyed witch on the third floor.

* * *

Crookshanks opened a sleepy eye and watched his new master trundle back into the bedroom. She woke early to study and stayed up late to do homework, how could she possibly have the energy to be walking about at this time of hour? Crookshanks felt tired just thinking about Hermione’s school schedule. He could not figure out how she had enough hours in the day to complete her work.

Hermoine walked into her bedroom with her dorm mates – they were talking excitedly about some commotion downstairs. These children and their sports! How much celebrating could they do in one night, my goodness. Crookshanks closed his eye and buried his face into one of his paws, trying to fall back asleep. But then he heard one of the girls utter the name Sirius Black, and he was up in an instant. He crawled to the door and slipped out just as Hermoine shut it.

Crookshanks was half-Kneazle – a magical feline creature. His magical blood made him much smarter than you average housecat and allowed him to understand humans with uncanny accuracy. The owner of the pet shop he have resided in for so long had always assumed no one wanted to buy him due to his ugly face and pugnacious attitude, but the truth was Crookshanks was not stand offish or unfriendly – he just had no tolerance for stupidity. And it would be a cold day in hell before he allowed himself to be sold to some foolish child. But Hermoine was no ordinary witch and he found himself immediately smitten with the clever young girl. And he would be damned if anything happened to her on his watch.

Crookshanks snuck his way past an annoying seventh year prefect barking orders to other students in the common room, winded between the legs of an angry teacher yelling at a knight in a portrait and jumped up on a low wall lining a long school corridor. As Crookshanks turned a corner, he spied a large window. He opened the latch and leapt from the window, onto the braches of a large tree sitting in an open courtyard. Down the tree, through the courtyard, and soon Crookshanks was trotting past the school greenhouse and headed towards the Forbidden Forest, where the strange man had been living during this school year. What had the angry fool done now?

* * *

“What do you mean he’s gone!?”

Crookshanks stared up at the odd man. He had never met a creature before that could transform from man to animal and back again. He had a feeling his life was going to get more and more interesting, as long as Hermoine remained his master.

“The rat has fled.”

“Where to?”

“How should I know?”

“You fool! You let him escape! I should grind you into an orange furry pulp and feed you to the birds!”

Crookshanks hissed at the angry filthy man and began to turn away.

“Where do you think you’re going cat?!”

“I’m not your servant or one of those scared little children. I’m done with you and your insane plans old man.”

Sirius let out an angry sigh.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Come now, tell me what you know.”

Crookshanks kept walking, he was done helping this ingrate.

“Please cat, come back… _she_ will remain in danger as long as the rat is running around unchecked.”

Crookshanks stopped, his bottle bush tail swaying as he weighed his options. He turned his squishy face around and sized up Sirius with large amber eyes – could this psychopath really be the best chance of catching a murderer and keeping his master safe?

“I thought we agreed I would investigate the castle and you would stay out here with the other wild creatures.”

“I was getting impatient and you gave me that list of house passwords…”

“That was a mistake, trusting you – you were to stay out here till I came to fetch you. That was the agreement. Animals are meant to be indoors.”

“Yes, yes, fine. I made a mistake, okay? Now tell me what you know.”

“If you had waited till we spoke, you would have known that the rat has fled the castle, or at least fled that annoying boy’s bedroom.”

“What?!”

“He’s gone. The children believe he’s been killed. It seems as if he laid evidence that I snuck into the child’s room and ate him. He’s more cunning than you led me to believe. A fat idiot –that is how you referred to him when we last spoke.”

“Faked his death…I should have known…”

“Old dog, with his old tricks. What now? He must have fled for parts unknown. He could be anywhere.”

Sirius sat down on a broken log, looking more tired and frail than ever. Wormtail had wiggled out of trouble, again! But where would he go? He was a coward, afraid of pain, only thought of himself. He would gravitate to people who were stronger, who could protect him. Sirius did not really believe Peter wanted to kill Harry or his friends – the damned rat had ample opportunities over the last twelve years to do just that. No – Peter just wanted to be safe, to be comfortable.

He would not have fled Hogwarts, not just yet. He probably needed somewhere safe and quiet to think. Somewhere to plan his next move. And he felt comfortable at Hogwarts, had spent the majority of his life within these grounds. Rats don’t readily leave their comfortable nest, do they? Pete is close by, I can feel it.

“No – he’s still here, still on campus. He hasn’t left just yet.”

“What shall we do now?”

“We’ll do what cats do best…”

“And what, may I ask, is that?”

“We’re gonna hunt us down a tasty rat.”


	32. Snape's Grudge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's frustration boils over.

Severus Snape slumped low in one of the cozy high-backed armchairs that dotted the Headmaster's office. The rest of the Hogwarts' faculty was seated around the school potions master, listening intently to Albus Dumbledore warn them about Sirius Black and remind them to all keep a closer eye on the student body – constant vigilance was theme for today. It was the morning of a Hogsmeade trip and the faculty was on edge at having so many students out and about with Black still on the loose.

Snape tuned out Dumbledore's droning voice and turned towards an open window. The sun had just broken through heavy cloud cover and its golden rays radiated down onto the castle, giving the old stone a gilded appearance. While the students and faculty were on pins and needles following the break-ins and scattered sightings of Black around campus, Snape had started to feel…excited.

Concern for the safety of the student body was ever present on his mind and was of paramount importance, but as the year went on Snape's outrage over Black's incredible escape abated – he began to view the current situation as an opportunity, a blessed second chance from the heavens.

It was disgusting to admit to himself, but the truth was Snape was now pleased Black had broken out of Azkaban and had come to Hogwarts. Black was the final piece of the puzzle, the last part to be slotted in. With the traitor dead Snape's absolution – his redemption – would be complete. The Dark Lord, Severus Snape and Sirius Black – three dark harbingers that had brought about destruction of an innocent red flower.

One had fallen over 12 years ago and was never coming back, no matter what nonsense Dumbledore kept espousing. The other had been living a bland life, trapped in a dark castle on borrowed time. He continue his penance for as long as need be. And now Snape had been blessed with another opportunity to bring down the final demon. I will not miss a second time. I will not hesitate again.

With Black's death Lily would be avenged, her son would be safe, and I could leave this wretched school – free myself from this indentured servitude. Azkaban, freedom, I don't care what they do to me as long as my oath is fulfilled and I can take leave from this place.

Snape did not care what promises he had made to the Headmaster, Black would die before he touched Harry again. I have to kill the bastard – he's too dangerous to be kept alive and, contrary to what the Ministry said, Black had proven that no place on Earth was secure enough to hold him.

As long has Harry was alive Black would never rest, consumed as he was with finishing the Dark Lord's final mission. And the longer Black remained near Hogwarts, the more chances Snape would have to finish his vendetta with the arrogant traitor and keep his solemn promise to Lily.

The scraping of chairs drew Snape from his ruminations and back to his present surroundings – chairs were pushed back as the faculty members stood up. It looked as though the boring pep talk had concluded. Dumbledore was quickly surrounded by a few teachers as he strode from the office, it seemed as though questions about Black and the related security measures were endless.

Snape hung back, his eyes sweeping around the office. He was always amazed at the incredible objects that the room contained – Dumbledore had been able to acquire some truly magical treasures on his travels. Snape's eyes lingered a long moment on Fawkes, and then he locked eyes with Professor McGonagall. He held up a quick hand and she quickly nodded, a sign of surprise on her face. What does he want with me?

Soon the office emptied, leaving only Snape and McGonagall. The room was silent, save for a faint scratching – Fawkes was enjoying a herring bone as a post breakfast snack.

"You wish to speak with me young man?"

Snape slowly sighed, always had to comment on my age. She was like all the other teachers, tolerated him solely because of Dumbledore. Like I need any of them! But alas, I did. Black was not just appearing inside the castle, he was getting help from someone. And Dumbledore refused to see reason – the culprit was right in front of his eyes! Snape had decided he needed to recruit one more member into the 'Lupin is in cahoots with Black' club.

"Yes, just a moment of your time, if you can spare it."

"Go on…"

"Minerva…I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. I know you, along with the majority of the staff, had reservations – deep reservations – about my teaching appointment."

McGonagall help up a hand. "That was a long time ago Severus. You've accommodated yourself well lo these many years."

"Thank you, but let us speak plainly. We've never been close."

"You think the state of our relationship is my fault? It takes two to create a bond Severus."

"Yes, of course you're right. I don't go out of my way to spend time with you, nor any of the others. Please don't take offense, I'm not close to anyone."

"None taken. Is there something specific you wanted to discuss? I'm on chaperone duty today at Hogsmeade." McGonagall gestured out the office door and towards the waiting stairs.

"Minerva I wanted to talk to you about another faculty member…Professor Lupin."

"Yes?"

Snape stared hard at the Deputy Headmistress. Strict, no nonsense, always adhered to the rules. But Snape had seen her show a capacity for reason and compassion. He wondered if she knew Lupin's secret. Surely the head of his house must have been notified of his condition. Yet he wondered if maybe she didn't know. How would she react? Shock? Concern? Hurt that Dumbledore had not confided in her? Snape had a sudden urge to blurt out the dirty secret, he wanted to provoke a reaction from her.

"Professor Lupin – I – I've some serious concerns about him and his…ability to teach here."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "This sounds like a conversation you should be having with the Headmaster. You should know better than to talk behind his back _Severus_."

So loyal, she followed Dumbledore blindly – the lemming never thought for herself, never opened her eyes to the big picture! "I've voiced my worries to him!"

"And?"

"He brushed them away! Doesn't believe what I've got to say!"

"Severus listen, no please listen to me. I know about your past with Remus."

Snape scoffed, if only she knew even half of what Lupin and his friends had put him through!

"I know that you two have never been the best of friends. But those were schoolboy fights, people change Severus. Remus has a good heart. He's gentle and kind and I believe he is well suited to teach the young minds in our care."

"He's dangerous Minerva, there's hidden violence within him! He has power, uncontrollable power…"

"What are you talking about?"

"He – well he – never mind that. It's not my relationship with him that worries me. It's his relationship with Black!"

"What relationship? Are you suggesting that he's been helping Black infiltrate the school grounds?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!"

"Come now Severus, Black didn't just betray the Potters. He betrayed all his friends, Remus included. Remus is now your brother, he's one of the Order. I will not entertain the notion that he would help Black harm anyone."

Snape turned away in anger, how is it that no one can see the evil in others, only in him?! How can she not even consider my side of things? When Snape turned back to McGonagall his eyes were wet, pleading with her to see reason.

"I do not believe that Remus is evil. I do not believe that he would knowingly harm anyone, least of all a young child. He was not a vindictive boy in school, I know this. But Remus became a different person when he was around his friends. He changed Minerva, and that is what is happening now. Black had a hold over him when they were students, and I think that dynamic is back. I think he has somehow convinced Lupin to help him, to follow him without question the way he did in school. Maybe Lupin isn't even aware of how he is helping Black, he may even think he is saving his old friend. But Black is somehow bypassing all our safeguards – even the magical protections of the _great_ Headmaster have not worked to keep him out. Someone is helping Black stay near Hogwarts undetected and someone is helping him get into the castle. Who else could it be?"

McGonagall stared hard at the floor for a few seconds, digesting what Snape had said. When she had composed herself and formulated a response, she slowly raised her eyes again. Were they full of understanding or reproach – maybe a bit of both?

"Twelve years ago Albus called me and a few other teachers up here to this very office. He told us that he had found a new potions master. He told us that there would be a lot of controversy surrounding the appointment. The new professor would be the youngest teacher in Hogwarts history. He would be a former student that had found himself in detention countless times, that many of us would remember him as a troublemaker. That there would be stories about him, dark stories about who he has associated with after he graduated. Rumors that he aligned with…a dark sect. That he had been in league with HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED."

Snape could not bear to meet McGonagall's eyes.

"He also told us to remain together, to show loyalty and to rally behind the new teacher. He told us to ignore the stories and judge the new potions master once we got to know him, to judge him on his merit and not what others whispered about him."

"I'm grateful, forever grateful for what the Headmaster did." The words struggled out, squeezing through a lump in Snape's throat. "But I'm not Remus Lupin. This is not the same situation."

"He told us not to trust the stories, but to trust him. Terrible things were said about you Severus, horrible indeed. But my colleagues and I welcomed you with open arms. Not because we didn't necessarily believe the stories, but because we trusted Albus. To trust you was to trust him. You see Severus, it comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgement. I do; therefore I trust you. And by extension, I trust Remus."

Snape flopped down onto a large green armchair sitting in the middle of the office. How could talking be so physically draining? He heard McGonagall walk out of the office, anxious to start her chaperoning duties. She had made a compelling argument, no doubt. Dumbledore was a great and powerful wizard, of that Snape was sure. But Snape also knew firsthand that the great wizard was capable of mistakes, just like the next man. And, as Dumbledore was rather cleverer than most men, his mistakes tended to be correspondingly huger.

Snape's eyes moved over Dumbledore's desk and landed on the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. The former Slytherin headmaster was staring down at Snape with a disapproving look…

* * *

…Snape found himself back in the headmaster's office several hours later, slouched in the same green armchair and suffering from the same disappointed look from Phineas' portrait. Snape was listening with growing annoyance as Draco Malfoy was recounting the story he had told Snape, just a few hours before, to a now concerned looking Dumbledore.

Snape looked away from Phineas' gaze and stared over at the third year Slytherin. Draco Malfoy. So much potential in such a small package. And like so many other students that had passed through Snape's classes, this one seemed intent on squandering his god given talents.

Draco had been rambling on for a good ten minutes. He was a skinny boy of medium height, with golden hair that looked like it was on the verge of turning silver at any moment. He had porcelain white skin, thin lips and a narrow chin. A handsome miniature of his father, with the inviting eyes of his beautiful mother. Draco seemed destined to be a heartbreaker and smooth talker, the young girls in Slytherin beware.

Snape could also sense an underlying intelligence and power in the young boy, but it was buried deep, underneath a surface of arrogance, hubris and naivety. Snape had promised his friend Lucius he would watch over his son, guide him and inspire him to take his studies seriously, but Draco could be frustratingly insolent at times. I could teach him a great many things! Why does he never listen to me!

Even now, Draco refused to follow his advice. He had told the boy to stick to the bare facts, simply explain what happened in an even keeled manner. Present the story in an impartial way and let the listener draw his own conclusions. He had tried to guide Draco to be more sensible in his behavior after the hippogriff accident earlier that semester – be more in control of your emotions, none of us like Potter either but you must proceed with some discretion, you're so obvious with your behavior. Be calm, cool and collected. Instead the stubborn boy was acting almost hysterical in front of the headmaster, claiming that Potter had been tormenting him all year.

Snape shook his head, what did it matter. It's not like Draco had the power to sway Dumbledore one way or the other.

"And then I turned around and there was his head, floating all by itself! I swear it!"

"Interesting, very interesting indeed Draco. What happened next?"

"He began taunting me, him and that filthy blood traitor Weasley! I have two witnesses sir! Crabbe and Goyle saw the whole thing! Potter and Weasley attacked us! Unprompted! It's been going on all year sir!"

Dumbledore gave Snape a knowing look and the potions master quickly looked away. A yelling and obviously lying student was not going to be the most reliable witness.

"I understand Draco, I really do. Thank you for telling me what transpired out there today. If you could please head down to your dormitory, I'd like a few minutes with your house head right now."

Dumbledore gestured to his office door and it swung open, but Draco held his ground.

"What about Potter? Are you going to punish him?! And that mud blood loving Weasley too?!"

Dumbledore's face came alight with sharp irritation, but it left his features as quickly as it came. He responded in a gentle voice, but his eyes flashed with stern. "Draco do not use that language in my presence, or anywhere for that matter. Now please excuse yourself, you can visit Madam Pomfrey if you're still feeling unwell. I will decide how to deal with your classmates and their actions today."

Draco turned red and whirled about to face Snape, looking to his teacher to buttress his insolence. Snape stared at Draco with disgust and flicked his head to the open door. Draco appeared to be on the verge of disagreeing, thought better of it and stomped off, loudly closing the door behind him.

"So? What did you think?"

"Bright boy, but none of his father's carefree loquaciousness or silky charm."

"I couldn't care less about your thoughts on Draco's personality, what did you think of his story?"

Dumbledore got up with a smile and began walking around his office, running his hand along the volumes of books lining his office – seemingly searching for something and nothing all at once.

"It's quite a fantastical story Severus. A disembodied head attacking Draco?"

"So you're suggesting my student lied to right to your face?!"

"It certainly wouldn't be the first a student has lied to me." Dumbledore turned to Snape as he said this, a twinkle in his eye.

Snape was up on his feet in an instant. "This is a serious matter!"

"What would you like me to do? Punish Harry for slinging mud at Draco? I'm sure both boys acted inappropriately."

"I don't give a damn about punishing either of the spoilt brats! Don't you see what this means? Potter was able to get out of the castle, past our safeguards, past your safeguards! I searched his pockets, they were full of candy from Hogsmeade! He was out there today."

Dumbledore plucked a book from the wall and took it back to his desk. He sat down slowly, steepled his fingers under his chin and gave Snape a searching look.

"It is troubling…tell me you honest feelings. You truly believe the child got out today?"

"Yes!"

"Did you use occlu– "

"I didn't need to. The guilt was plastered all over his face. Let us get him up here and question him if you don't believe me!"

"I believe you, I do. And what of this business about a floating head?"

"Who knows what Draco saw, maybe he panicked and didn't see clearly – or perhaps the brat used a poorly casted disillusionment charm on himself."

"At his age? Such an advanced spell?"

"Who cares what actually happened between the two of them this afternoon, the fact remains Potter was there! Out there! And I think you know more about how he got out then you're letting on."

"Severus I've been open with you about the castle's protections, shown you much more about its secrets than I feel you've rightfully earned. I honestly don't know how the boy got out."

"Then get that filthy half breed up here!"

"Severus!"

"He knows something, I know it! Potter had a piece of parchment on him today as well. Lupin recognized it!"

"The parchment showed what?"

"Well nothing, an insult appeared when I tried to force it reveal its contents."

"A joke from the village toy store perhaps?"

"No, there was something about it…I've seen it before…it doesn't matter. Lupin and Potter, they're up to something. I know it!"

"So now you think Lupin has stopped helping Sirius and is now helping Potter? Helping the boy to do what exactly? Escape?"

Snape's cheeks flushed red and jumbled images sprang to his mind. He felt the onset of a migraine, they had been afflicting him more and more this year. I can't think straight! Snape raised his palms to his eyes, trying to rub away the confused thoughts.

Dumbledore got up, walked around his desk and bent to a knee to face Snape. He leaned in close and whispered to his potions master.

"Severus, have faith in me and have faith in your fellow Order member. No man, woman or child is helping Sirius move around the school grounds. I'm sure of it."

* * *

Severus Snape sat in his private office, brooding. It was that time of day when it was not quite the afternoon, yet not quite the evening either –the dungeons were empty, most of the students were in the library studying for final exams or in the outside courtyard enjoying a break before dinner.

Sirius Black had not been sighted on the school ground for a few weeks and Snape was no closer to finding him than when the term first began. None of the faculty had believed his warnings about Lupin and Dumbledore seemed as unconcerned as ever about his misgivings.

Am I crazy? To believe one thing whole heartedly when no one else in the entire school gives it credence? Have I gone mad? Why can no one else see the danger Lupin possesses? Snape's mind drifted back to the last time Black had been spotted…

Black was such an idiot to have come back here…but how had he been able to breach the castle walls? His exploits as a student were legendary, perhaps he knew of a secret entrance? No! Lupin must be involved, but how? And why had Black bothered with that idiot Weasley and not used his knife against Potter? He had braved the dementors of Azkaban and traveled all this way just to bungle his mission at the last moment? A hardened criminal tripped up by an ignorant school boy?

At first Snape had dismissed the Weasley boy's claims, the quidditch match must have gotten him all riled up. He probably snuck some fire whiskey during the party and had a bad reaction. Or just wanted some attention. But that fool of a knight in the portrait had corroborated the boy's claims. Black had been there, with the week's passwords at his fingertips. How could Black have squandered such an opportunity? Snape had been uneasy ever since that night. Something else was afoot, but what?

How was Lupin helping Black? Snape had haunted the werewolf's footsteps for the past few weeks. He had employed the use of the Hogwarts' ghosts, bribed several school portraits, even promised to teach Peeves some new hexes if the poltergeist alerted him whenever the wolf left the castle and ventured out onto the school grounds. Maybe Black and Lupin wanted to kidnap Harry, not just kill him. Maybe…no, I mustn't get carried away with all this conjecture, random guesswork never helped anyone. Who cares what the actual plan is? The ultimate goal for Black is Potter's demise. Simple. End of story. Black must be killed at all costs.

Lord give me strength, I don't know how to keep the children safe. Dumbledore is a great wizard, of that there is no doubt. But infallible he is not, and to put his faith in a werewolf with a checkered past, to allow that half man to be in such close contact with vulnerable children…it was irresponsible to say the least! What if he missed a scheduled potion? Had a bad reaction to it just one time? Lost his temper? What if being in presence of Black causes him to fall back into dangerous habits?

I believe in second chances, God knows where I would be without one. But to jeopardize children's lives, to be so cavalier with their safety…what was Dumbledore thinking? Lupin and Dumbledore had been furious when I had assigned the DADA classes the werewolf chapter, but what choice did I have? I need the children to be aware of what they could face, need them to cognizant of what to do if they came across such danger.

A loud fizzing sounded off to Snape's left, reigning this thoughts in just as his imagination was about to run amok. A smoking ginger colored potion was bubbling in a large black cauldron, giving off faint traces of mildew. Snape shook his head and couldn't help but smile to himself. He had spent all semester trying to catch Lupin in the act, following him every chance he got, racking his brain relentlessly to figure out how the wolf was helping his old school mate cheat the hangman, trying to exact some sort of justice for all that damn wolf's past transgressions – and amidst all of that struggle Snape was still beholden to helping make the wolf's life easier.

He had spent so many precious hours this year brewing the complex Wolfsbane potion – literally spending his time protecting the enemy! What kind of life is this? Dumbledore's requests knew no bounds! Now Snape was to be a messenger boy. He dipped a large goblet into the bubbling liquid and headed out of his office. The damned wolf had forgotten to come by and take his potion!

Snape quickly walked up the school steps and approached Lupin's office on the third floor – the door was ajar and a fire was flickering within. Snape knocked and then strode in without waiting for any acknowledgement. Of course the wolf wasn't here! Such selfishness! Snape quickly turned to leave – I have to find Lupin quickly and feed him the potion. As Snape reached the threshold of the office, he froze in his tracks. He slowly turned back around and stared curiously at Lupin's desk. A common looking piece of parchment sat upon it, with some ink scribbled all over. But the ink was moving, continuously, as if it were alive. Snape knew he had seen that parchment before.

He slowly walked up to the desk and took a closer look – my God.

Jeremy Chadwick slowly walked to Professor Lupin's office. Final exams were coming up so soon and still he could not perform a basic shield spell. He hoped the Professor had some time this evening to walk him through the incantation again. He really enjoyed Lupin's classes – finally a competent DADA teacher Jeremy thought as he turned a corner on the long hallway that led to Lupin's office.

Jeremy froze when he was a few feet from the office door. He watched with a mixture of fear and shock as he witnessed Professor Snape yell in a scary pitch and toss a goblet into the air. The cup floated high and then smashed to the floor with a loud shatter. As a thick bright ginger liquid seeped onto the stone floor of Lupin's office, Snape tore out of the room as if the devil himself was behind him. He swept past a flabbergasted student, flew down the school steps and pushed out into the night.

Snape was a runaway train, headed straight for the Shrieking Shack.

He had only been there once before.

And this time he would be ready for the monster within.


	33. It All Falls Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape fails again.

Severus Snape stood very still against a faded wall, his upper back bent to ensure he stayed hidden under the invisibility cloak. It took all his willpower to not move a muscle or shout out – he could barely contain himself. He took quick shallow breaths, trying to calm his mind and control his roiling emotions. He felt a mix of trepidation, anger and hesitant excitement – the scene in front of him was surreal, almost unbelievable.

Ron Weasley was lying on a dirty old bed with his face scrunched up in pain. His leg appeared broken and a scrawny rat was squirming wildly in his clenched hands. Harry Potter and Hermoine Granger were standing beside the bed, dirtied and bloodied from head to toe. Remus Lupin stood across from the children, giving them a history lesson on his time as a student at Hogwarts. And right beside Lupin, standing there in the flesh and plain as day, was the mass murderer Sirius Black.

The forsaken traitor was a gaunt skeleton, skin stretched so taut across his face it appeared as if it would tear away at any moment. His sunken eyes held a vacant expression and his thin lips were cracked and bleeding. His teeth were chipped and yellow and some appearing rotted to the core. Filthy matted hair fell to his elbows, a knotted rat's nest of tangles and thin strands. He was dressed in a ragged black robe that mirrored his shambled appearance.

Snape leveled out his breathing, trying to channel the righteous fury that angrily coursed through him as he stared hard at Black. The fiend had spent 12 years in Azkaban, but it wasn't punishment enough. He had loathed Snape for no other reason than Snape existed, that Snape wasn't born into his rich little pure blood world. He had tormented Snape endlessly, driving the young Slytherin into bouts of depression and self-loathing.

And Black had killed the only thing Snape had ever cared about. Losing the love of your life hurts – accepting that Lilly had wanted someone else to comfort her, to hold her late at night, to listen to her dreams and fears…that had been a difficult enough pill for Snape to swallow. Having to come to terms with the fact that she wanted to build a life with someone else, with one of his true enemies…that had almost broken Snape. But discovering that she had been slaughtered like an animal, deprived of a full life at such a young age – that had torn Snape asunder.

But now events had aligned perfectly and the time had come to exact exquisite vengeance. Sometimes the Gods smiled down upon you! Oh, how sweet it this moment was! Very soon Black would be transformed into a zombie, destroyed by a vicious Dementor's Kiss. Lupin would be disgraced and imprisoned in Azkaban for aiding and abetting a mass murderer. And smug Dumbledore would have to eat crow and acknowledge that I'd been right all along…

_…Snape pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin._

_Hermione screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry felt as though he'd received a huge electric shock._

_"I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow," said Snape, throwing the cloak aside, careful to keep this wand pointing directly at Lupin's chest. "Very useful, Potter, I thank you. . . ."_

_Snape was slightly breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. "You're wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?" he said, his eyes glittering. "I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did . . . lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight."_

_"Severus —" Lupin began, but Snape overrode him._

_"I've told the headmaster again and again that you're helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout —"_

_"Severus, you're making a mistake," said Lupin urgently. "You haven't heard everything — I can explain — Sirius is not here to kill Harry —"_

_"Two more for Azkaban tonight," said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this. . . . He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin . . . a tame werewolf —"_

_"You fool," said Lupin softly. "Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"_

_BANG! Thin, snakelike cords burst from the end of Snape's wand and twisted themselves around Lupin's mouth, wrists, and ankles; he overbalanced and fell to the floor, unable to move. With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black's eyes._

_"Give me a reason," he whispered. "Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."_

_Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred._

_Harry stood there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do or whom to believe. He glanced around at Ron and Hermione. Ron looked just as confused as he did, still fighting to keep hold on the struggling Scabbers. Hermione, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, in a very breathless voice, "Professor Snape — it — it wouldn't hurt to hear what they've got to say, w — would it?"_

_"Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school," Snape spat. "You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue."_

_"But if — if there was a mistake —"_

_"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, looking suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" A few sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was still pointed at Black's face. Hermione fell silent._

_"Vengeance is very sweet," Snape breathed at Black. "How I hoped I would be the one to catch you. . . ."_

_"The joke's on you again, Severus," Black snarled. "As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle" — he jerked his head at Ron — "I'll come quietly. . . ."_

_"Up to the castle?" said Snape silkily. "I don't think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They'll be very pleased to see you, Black . . . pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay. . . ."_

_What little color there was in Black's face left it. "You — you've got to hear me out," he croaked. "The rat — look at the rat —"_

_But there was a mad glint in Snape's eyes that Harry had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason. "Come on, all of you," he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew to his hands. "I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too —"_

_Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door._

_"Get out of the way, Potter, you're in enough trouble already," snarled Snape. "If I hadn't been here to save your skin —"_

_"Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year," Harry said. "I've been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn't he just finish me off then?"_

_"Don't ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works," hissed Snape. "Get out of the way, Potter."_

_"YOU'RE PATHETIC!" Harry yelled. "JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON'T EVEN LISTEN —"_

_"SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!" Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. "Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he'd killed you! You'd have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black — now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!"_

_Harry made up his mind in a split second. Before Snape could take even one step toward him, he had raised his wand…_

…Snape was full of an indescribable emotion – was it justifiable anger? Righteous vengeance? God had deemed a soul unworthy of this world and Snape felt as though he were the holy sword of judgement. His blood felt as though it were on fire – a dark power flowed through him that he not felt in years and his senses felt supremely heightened, as if on higher plane of awareness.

He registered with a shock that Potter had pointed his wand at him and in his peripheral vision he became aware that the other two children had also assumed an attack position. Snape felt a yawning pit open up deep within his chest – a sickening feeling swept through him as he realized what was about to happen. Please God no…don't do this to me…I'm so close to fulfilling my oath…Snape could only close his eyes in frustration as three separate streams of red light jetted towards him.

* * *

Snape felt the cool caress of crisp grass along the left side of face. He opened his eyes and tried to move, but his limbs screamed out in aches and pains. His chest felt as though a centaur had stomped an angry hoof through it and his head was throbbing with the concussive aftereffects of earlier in the night. He lifted a tired hand to his face and could feel the beginnings of a few angry lumps. Had someone slammed his head into a brick wall?

He rolled over onto his back with a groan and stared up a partly cloudy sky – a white luminous moon was shining down on him. Where am I? What the hell happened? Snape glanced to his right and saw Ron lying motionless on the ground. The boy had a large manacle clamped down on his outstretched arm and blood was trickling from his forehead. Snape closed his eyes as his head continue to pulse with agony, he could barely collect his thoughts into a coherent stream.

A loud angry howl pierced the night sky, full of pain and uncertainty. It sounded like an angry animal…a large bear perhaps…no, it was…a werewolf! Snape's eyes flashed open and awareness swept over him. The events of the past hour came flooding back to him.

Black…Lupin…the meddling children! He may have Lily's eyes, but the rest of that brat was pure James, through and through. Like father, like son. I risk my life to save his skin and my thanks is a goddamn concussion? For a brief moment Snape wished harm had befallen the children – they deserved what danger came their way after their unconscionable behavior. No, it's not their fault. Who knows what lies Black and Lupin fed them? Still, I'm their teacher, their superior, they should not have meddled…

"Ahhhhhhh!" Another terrified wail whistled through along with the night wind, terror-filled and foreboding. Snape rolled up to his feet, willing his mind to close down and shut off the pain. He frantically searched his robe, but couldn't find a vial of helpful tonic on his person. Woefully unprepared, for he had not been expecting a fight tonight. I must always be prepared! Frustrated with himself, Snape staggered off towards the general direction of the scream.

He crested a small hill and then headed down, stumbling over small shrubs and loose rocks. Adrenaline and a sense of duty drove him onward, thoughts Black forgotten in the moment, as he searched to help whoever had yelled out. In his panic, he tripped over a small stone and hit the ground hard. He rolled over and over down the hill, finally coming to a crashing stop. Snape shook his head back and forth, trying to clear the cobwebs. Through the pain he noticed the air had become very cold, an unnatural chill now clung to him. He was panting hard and could see his freezing breath in the night air. Puzzled he looked up, the sight up ahead sent fear spiking down his spine.

In front of Snape was the edge of the Great Lake, covered in a filmy white mist. A child stood on the shore and floating all around him were dementors – hundreds of them! Snape fought down his fear and reached into his pocket, but his wand was not there. Icy cold began to penetrate his insides and a dense fog creeped into his vision – Snape bravely pushed forward, his mind scrambling for an answer to combat the menacing black mass swirling around the child.

A dementor closed in on the boy, its scabbed hands grabbed at his neck, drawing the child's face up to its rotting mouth…Snape tried to yell out but his voice froze in his lungs.

Snape dropped to his knees in helplessness when suddenly, miraculously, a glowing white light appeared on a distant shore of the lake. It glowed brighter and brighter, washing over the lake and roaring onto the cold shore. The blinding light engulfed the dementors and the terrified boy, a hot white star. Snape shut his eyes tight and threw his arms towards the heavens, welcoming the patronus. It felt so inviting – a hot protective towel to shield him – he became impervious to the dark chill of the night.

When Snape opened his eyes the dementors had scattered like cockroaches from a flashlight. He waited with baited breath for Dumbledore to appear, relief washing over him that the headmaster had been nearby to drive the dark fiends away. Only a powerful patronus could have pushed back so many of those floating black terrors.

Snape's relief soon turned to impatience, and then to anger as Dumbledore failed to appear. Where was he? What was he waiting for? His continued lollygagging this year had already caused enough hardship! Snape struggled to his feet and wobbly made his way to the shore. There lay Potter and the Granger girl – unconscious and ice cold. Their lips were a worrying shade of blue and their skin was clammy to the touch. Snape waved his wand over them, quietly muttering "Rennervate" – the children remained motionless and their shallow breathing did not improve.

Snape again looked out across the lake to the distant shore, silently hoping Dumbledore to reveal himself. Nothing moved in the darkness and panic took hold once again – what if the dementors came back? He pointed his wand and waved it authoritatively towards the hill he had stumbled down earlier. Soon a stretcher came floating down, Ron's limp body ensconced within. With another flourish of his wand, Snape conjured two more stretchers out of thin air. He lifted Harry and Hermoine into them and began floating the children back to the castle when a raspy cough echoed out to his right.

A surge of electricity passed through Snape as he realized what had made the sound – it was a mess of tangled hair and filthy robes. Severus forgot all about the stretchers and the dire state of children – he hesitantly tip toed towards the man lying on the ground. Sirius Black lay wounded and unconscious on the shore, completely unprotected. His robes were in tatters and deep slashes lined his chest. His breath was feeble, as if there was barely any air left in his lungs. Snape stood over the broken man, deciding.

Snape once again looked to the far shore for any sign of Dumbledore, but this time it was because he did _not_ want to see the headmaster. Where had Dumbledore gone? Was he watching me now? Was it him who had saved us? Why had no one appeared? Where had the mysterious savior gone?

Snape looked back down at Black – the mass murderer who had taken so many innocent lives. Snape's hand tightened around his wand, the knuckles turning white. He kicked out at Black's head, the toe of his boot smacking a tangled knot of bloody hair.

It would be so easy to take this rotten life – right here, right now. Not just easy, it was the right thing to do. This man was a psychotic lunatic – he had killed, lied and betrayed his entire life. He had proven that not even Azkaban could contain him. He was an arrogant bastard, pure evil, he had made my life a ruined mess. If Black had never existed my life would be so different right now – I'd be happy and full, I'd be completely whole. Snape pointed his wand towards Black…it would be so easy.

Snape looked up once again. He stared off to the shore where the patronus had magnificently emerged from – he searched earnestly for any sign of movement among the trees. Nothing. He was alone.

I could blame the dementors or the deranged werewolf. I could say it was self-defense. I would be a hero…

* * *

_…Fudge consulted the large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat._

_"The dementors should have arrived by now," he said. "I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs."_

_He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn't moved._

_"You surely don't believe a word of Black's story?" Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's face._

_"I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore repeated._

_Snape took a step toward Dumbledore._

_"Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen," he breathed. "You haven't forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill me?"_

_"My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly._

_Snape turned on his heel and marched through the door Fudge was still holding._

Snape stomped down the hallway, alight with barely contained fury. Fudge had to break into a small trot to keep up with the furious potions master. Fudge spoke to him, but the Slytherin was in such a state of disbelief at Dumbledore's words that he didn't catch a word that the Minister uttered. A mutinous scowl wrapped itself around Snape's pale face and his eyes turned a troubling red – his teeth were clenched so tightly it seemed as though they might shatter at any moment. Fudge reached out and shook the angry man's shoulder.

"Huh – what?"

"Are you all right young man?"

"What? Yes, yes I'm fine…it's just that I… _only hope Dumbledore's not going to make difficulties," Snape replied. "The Kiss will be performed immediately?"_

_"As soon as Macnair returns with the dementors. This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we've got him at last. . . . I daresay they'll want to interview you, Snape . . . and once young Harry's back in his right mind, I expect he'll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him. . . ."_

Snape gave Fudge a knowing smirk as they continued down the corridor.

"…come now, let's get downstairs to gather the dementors and explain the situation. We can then bring them up to administer the Kiss. Black's on the seventh floor, correct?"

"Yes, the seventh floor. In Professor Flitwick's office." Snape stopped suddenly and looked back down the hallway.

Fudge gave Snape a tight smile and squeezed his arm. "Amazing what you did today Severus, simply amazing. I promise you I'll do my best to make sure you receive all the proper recognition for the capture. Order of Merlin, First Class! That's what awaits you in the future my boy!"

Snape looked at the Minister of Magic with unfocused eyes, as if he were seeing him through an opaque veil. "What? First class? Oh yes, thank you." Snape turned back to the corridor behind him – directly at the closed door to the hospital wing. He then turned back to Fudge, his eyes burning with intensity. "Minister you must hurry. Go get the dementors at once! Time is of the essence!"

"Right you are Severus. Why don't you lead the – hey! Where are you going?!"

Snape had taken off down the corridor, headed for a large set of circular stairs. He sprinted up four flights without pause, knocking aside several bewildered students. An awful sense of foreboding filled him with each step, he could sense something was wrong – terribly wrong! Why hadn't he objected earlier to having Black kept up there all alone? Not even one guard? The maniac was able to escape Azkaban! A teacher's old office could barely contain misbehaving students!

Snape slipped as he reached the seventh floor, slamming his knee on the cold stone floor. He rose to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain shooting through his leg. Eyes watering, Snape reached the door to Professor Flitwick's office and tried to wrench it open. It was locked up, tight as drum. He slipped out his wand and pointed it at the door knob – "Alohomora!"

He heard the lock slide out of place and then flung the door open. He limped into the room like a wounded, crazed animal – his wand raised and poised to fire at anything that moved. But the office was empty, only a gentle breeze flowing within. Snape followed the feel of the wind…it was coming from an open window towards the back of the office. Snape rushed across and stuck his head out into the night air, but not one trace of the murderer remained. Snape slumped to the floor in a crumbled heap, he had failed his Lily flower once again.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged them tight to his chest, bowing his head and letting tears leak from his red eyes. How could I have let this happen again? Why hadn't I stayed at Black's side the entire night? Why did I continue to put my faith and trust in Dumbledore? What more must I do to prove myself to him? He believed that dim witted child's story over mine?! That insufferable child…Potter! Snape's head snapped up, a deep fury emanating from him.

* * *

_…Fudge, Snape, and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself._

_"OUT WITH IT, POTTER!" he bellowed. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"_

_"Professor Snape!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey. "Control yourself!"_

_"See here, Snape, be reasonable," said Fudge. "This door's been locked, we just saw —"_

_"THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!" Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth._

_"Calm down, man!" Fudge barked. "You're talking nonsense!"_

_"YOU DON'T KNOW POTTER!" shrieked Snape. "HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —"_

_"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "Think about what you are saying. This door has been locked since I left the ward ten minutes ago. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?"_

_"Of course not!" said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. "I would have heard them!"_

_"Well, there you have it, Severus," said Dumbledore calmly. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further."_

_Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward…_

…he blazed down the hospital corridor and through a long spiral staircase. It was like the red sea parting – the few students that were still up immediately moved out of his way, for the twisted look on the potions master's face was terrifying. Snape burst through the school doors and strode out into the dark night.

His head was spinning – how had Black escaped? Potter must've helped him do it, but how? It didn't make any sense – how had the child escaped the hospital wing…a broom perhaps? No! He used the invisibility cloak! But how did he get up to the seventh floor and back down so quickly? None of tonight's events made any sense! No explanation seemed plausible. I'm missing something, some crucial piece. What was it?! The old fool knows, oh he knows good and well what happened here tonight! That goddamn smile plastered all over his face back there!

Snape began running, not knowing where his feet were leading him, just knowing that he had to get away from the castle. He began releasing his mind and hot tears finally came, sluicing down his stony face. They were tears of anger and frustration, tears of hot shame. Can I do nothing right? Such a wasted and worthless life I've led. All my planning, all my suspicions and what did they lead to – nothing! I could've done more. I could've caught Lupin in the act earlier this year. I could've searched harder for Black!

Snape ran by the school greenhouse, past Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest. He wanted to encounter something dark and dangerous tonight – he didn't have a plan, just wanted something bad to happen. There were dangers hidden deep within the forest and tonight there was even a werewolf on the loose. Snape silently prayed to come across the beast, yearning to kill or be killed.

He heard a howl resound from deep within the trees and screamed with fury at it, "I'm here! Right here! You hear me Lupin?! I'm right here!"

Snape pushed deeper into the forest, thick weeds pulling at his feet and gnarly branches scraping his face. He could hear Hagrid behind him, but he ignored the game keeper's worried voice and pushed further into the enveloping darkness. Eventually his energy began to fade – the events of the night and the dead sprint through the night brush had taken their toll and sapped him of his strength.

Snape stumbled into a clearing and spied something in the shadows – what was that? He raised his wand and fired spells indiscriminatingly all around him. Streaks of red and green flashed from his wand and soared in the darkness, smashing into trees and the cold ground. Wood splintered from tree trunks and the ground erupted in an angry blaze of dirt and rock. Tonight Snape was the most dangerous and unhinged creature lurking about the Forbidden Forest.

Snape swayed on his feet, a delirious punch drunk fighter at the end of a 12 round fight – the highs and lows of the day, the concussive pain in his head, an overwhelming frustration of being denied justice. He threw his wand at an imaginary foe and sagged to his knees, welcoming whatever may threat might come his way. With a heavy sigh his eyes fluttered close, his arms fell listlessly to his sides and Severus Snape collapsed.

* * *

Once again Snape opened his eyes to find himself on cold ground, disoriented and unsure of his surroundings. His whole body ached, his head pulsed with waves of soreness. Snape licked his lips and tasted dried blood mixed with dirt. He pushed himself up to an elbow and looked around – only the quiet sounds of a sleeping forest and a white moon.

Snape collected his bearings and began searching for his wand – a wizard always felt naked and incomplete without it by his side. He began groping blindly along the ground, when a shifting in the trees drew his eye.

Dumbledore stood silently under the shade of a large elm tree, whispering to a large centaur. The centaur had broad shoulders a powerful body, rippled with hard muscles sculpted from hard years living in the forest. The man-horse had white-blond hair and a palomino coat. His eyes were an astonishingly vivid blue and alive with ancient intelligence. The centaur nodded as Dumbledore spoke, eyeing Snape with a mixture of curiosity and disappointment.

Snape spied his wand lying to his left, nestled in a soft mound of grass. He slowly reached for it and rose to his feet, rolling the wand around in his fingers as if he were examining it for signs of disrepair. Snape began to close down his mind and shut his pain away. In its place flowed smoldering hatred, warming him like hot lava. Snape slowly bent into a runner's crouch and then exploded towards Dumbledore.

He gave off a guttural scream and waved his wand wildly at the headmaster, firing continuous bursts of red light. Dumbledore waved away each red burst with casual flicks of his hand, sending the red streams harmlessly into the ground. Explosions rocked all around the clearing, echoing throughout the forest. The centaur began to whine and stomp his hooves in nervousness, slinking back into the shadows whereas Dumbledore's face remained as tranquil as ever.

Snape continued to let loose incoherent screams as he closed in on the waiting headmaster. When he was a few yards away, Snape threw his wand at Dumbledore in angry frustration. It whistled by Dumbledore's head and clattered into the brush behind him. Snape continued running towards Dumbledore and slid to a stop mere inches from the old man's face.

"I know you had a hand in his escape! I know it! How could you? How could you believe _children_ over me? Why did you even hire me?! I'm done with this place, done with you! I'm not staying at Hogwarts another second longer!"

"Where would you go my boy?"

"Anywhere and everywhere. I'm going to spend my remaining time on this planet hunting down Lily's true killer!"

"Sirius is an innocent man. He was the victim of a horrible deceit Severus – we all were."

"Liar!" Snape jabbed an accusing finger into Dumbledore's chest. "You helped the traitor escape, didn't you? Didn't you?!" Snape grasped the collar of Dumbledore's robe and pulled the headmaster close to his face. Spittle flew from Snape's mouth as he screamed, "Don't lie to me!"

"I did."

Without thinking, losing total control and moving unconsciously, Snape reared his fist back like an angry viper and punched Dumbledore square across his face. His fist smacked into Dumbledore's cheek and powered through, slicing a deep gash. Soon the white beard was flaked with dark spots of red. The old man grunted and stumbled a step back, but otherwise made no acknowledgement of the attack.

Snape drew his fist back again – it hung heavy with hate and he stared into Dumbledore's blue eyes. His held his fist high in the air, like a waiting axe that could thunder down at any second. Dumbledore continued to meet Snape's gaze with a sad look.

Snape red eyes flashed back to black and he slowly lowered his hand, finally coming to his senses and controlling the frustrated anger that roiled within him. He stormed off from calm headmaster – "You've gone too far this time, letting that killer go simply because the _boy_ said so! You take too much for granted Dumbledore. I quit! Find another peasant to carry on your lies!"

The centaur appeared back through the shadows and sauntered up to the headmaster, the pair of them watching Snape disappear into the forest. The centaur stooped low, picked up a pair cracked spectacles and handed them to Dumbledore.

"I believe this belongs to you."

"Thank you Firenze."

"I did not think it was my place to intercede."

"Right you are my friend, it was between us and no one else. Master Snape had every right to feel betrayed. I purposely kept him in the dark and misled him this evening."

"The man seems completely unhinged and dangerous, you would be wise to exercise caution with him."

"He has suffered extreme distress tonight."

"I don't care what took place, he had no right to put his hands upon you. If he had not just quit his post, I would've advised you to sack him over that pathetic display. The time has come for you to find a new potions master."

"I don't believe that will be necessary my friend."

"How so?"

"My brooding potions master quits at the end every school year, but I always refuse to accept his resignation."

"But why? You're too forgiving with your flock sometimes. Let him go headmaster. You think this troubled man needs you?"

Dumbledore gently stroked the back of the centaur's neck, which would have been a sign of extreme disrespect had it come from any other wizard on the planet.

"No my friend, I don't think he needs me at all. But _I_ need him."


	34. I Know What You Did Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter escapes and flees to a faraway shore.

**Chapter 34**

**I Know What You Did Last Summer**

The dark cobblestone alleyway stank of raw fish, sea bird droppings and salty sea water; shadows danced along its floor, borne from weak light flickering from small torches hanging in a haphazard fashion along its stone walls. Voices floated through the air from nearby docks, for the shipyard never slept, even at this late hour. Panicked footsteps echoed loudly down the alleyway and soon a lithe figure appeared, slipping and sliding on the wet stone.

A tall man, bundled tight in a grey traveling cloak, was running from an unseen foe – he kept anxiously glancing at his feet, as if the ground might open up and swallow him whole. The man dashed out of the alleyway and found himself in a small dirt yard, littered with a few old bins and discarded trash. A great ship loomed large up ahead of him, a massive transatlantic freighter that offered escape. But the dirt yard was encircled by a rusted chain link fence, with circular barbed wire lining the top. He rushed up to the fence and grabbed it in frustration, too high and too dangerous to climb.

The man dropped his right hand to his side and a long wooded stick slid out from his sleeve and into his waiting palm. He flicked the stick and amazingly a long rope made of fire materialized from its tip. He brandished the fiery whip around his head and lashed out at the fence – the fire rope sliced a wide gash through the fence, like hot steel cutting through soft butter. The man brought the fire whip back and readied for another slash against the fence, but when he swung the whip forward the fire went out with a hiss, steam rising up into the air as if the whip had been doused with a cold splash.

The man wheeled around in fright – standing before him was a thin man with sallow skin, a large hooked nose and uneven yellow teeth. He had shoulder length, greasy black hair that framed his angular face like gloomy curtains. He had dark penetrating eyes that resembled long, endless tunnels that no light could hope to pierce. He wore flowing black robes and had the appearance of an overgrown bat – his thin lips were cracked and red, but curled in hateful triumph.

Severus Snape stuck out his wand menacingly at the terrified man in front of him, "Hands up, you filthy mutt."

"What do you want from me?" screamed the man in the grey cloak, his face hidden beneath a large hood.

"Shut your grubby mouth Black! Throw your wand to the ground and surrender…or don't. I have no qualms dragging your cold dead body back to the Ministry."

"I have no idea who Black is!" The man's terrified voice rattled around the dirt yard, but went no further, drowned out by the sounds floating on the nearby docks – loud shouts from longshoreman and impatient horns from waiting ships swallowed the man's cries.

"So be it," whispered Snape and he sliced his wand through the night air, while dodging to the side.

"Protego!" Snape's curse rebounded in front of the grey man and bounced harmlessly to the ground. The force of the blocked spell pushed the grey man back into the chain link fence, the still smoldering metal singeing his back. He yelped in pain and stumbled forward – his wand held aloft in front of him, ready to parry the next attack.

Snape rolled out of his dodge and slashed downward with his wand – black puffs of smoke erupted from the ground in front of him, coloring the air black. The puffs continued towards the grey man in five foot intervals – he shrunk back in fright as the eruptions closed in. Finally, a puff erupted right at his feet, knocking him down in a fit of dry coughing. The black smoke burned his eyes and throat, suffocating him – he began to scream and wave his wand wildly at the smoke, shooting off indiscriminant curses at his blurred foe.

His screams died away and he stopped brandishing his wand as the smoke cleared – Snape had vanished. The grey man waved his wand around the dirt yard with a shaking hand, waiting for his opponent to reveal himself.

"Where are you?!"

A large black boot whistled through the air and slammed into the grey man's head, snapping his neck back and driving his body back into the chain link fence. Snape slammed his foot back on the ground and glared down at the bloodied man, a look of crazy triumph flashing across his face. The grey man stared back with angry determination in his eyes, ready for a dogfight, when suddenly his resolution melted away into complete fear. He threw away his wand and held up his hands, complete surrender.

Snape felt a whooshing behind him and slowly turned around – a tall wizard with a long white beard was now stood in the dirt yard, dressed in magnificent blue and purple robes. The air around Albus Dumbledore seemed to pulse with unseen energy.

"Can I be of some assistance?"

"What the hell are you doing here? I don't need _your_ help!"

"I was not talking to you Severus."

"Still favoring Gryffindors over all others? He gets no more chances to escape the hangman!"

Dumbledore did not respond, instead looking past Snape towards the grey man. Snape spun back around and followed the headmaster's gaze to the trembling man crouched on the ground. He walked over to the man and threw back grey hood – a skinny black man with short blonde hair and a youthful face stared back at him, terror reflecting in his black eyes. Snape dragged the man up by the collar and screamed, "Who are you?! Where's Sirius Black?!"

"That's quite enough. Release him – now!"

Snape relinquished his grasp and the scared young man dropped to the ground in a heap. He looked up at Dumbledore, who nodded and flicked his head back towards the stone alleyway. The man crawled to his wand, snatched it up and scrambled to his feet – without so much as a glance towards Dumbledore or Snape, he took off down the alleyway and fled into the night.

Snape began to breathe heavily as anger left him and frustration took its place. He stared past the chain link fence, over the docks and out to the large freighter that was moored to a pier, slowly swaying in time with the slow ocean waves. Dumbledore walked up beside him and turned to look at this former student and current charge.

"You're bounty hunting days have run their course, it's time to come home."

"I have no home. And my quarry's still out there."

"Sirius is innocent Severus – I've searched the boy's memories. Do you doubt me?"

"Fine, Pettigrew then! I want one of those traitors brought to justice."

Dumbledore turned away from Snape and joined him in staring at the large freighter. It truly was amazing what muggles could create without the aid of magic – what a beautifully immense creation. I must make time to learn how they are able to create these monstrosities. Dumbledore then turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"We'll find him – I promise you that Peter will pay for his duplicity, but you must continue to trust me. Come home…please."

"Hogwarts?!" Snape spat out the word. "Filled to the brim with Gryffindor sympathizers and your bigoted cronies, all prejudiced against Slytherin."

"Come now, you don't truly believe that?"

"I don't? Why am I the only Slytherin alum on the staff, the only teacher you treat with such disdain? For God's sake man, you allowed a filthy half-breed into the school because of your blind favoritism towards your house alumni!"

"Do not use such language in my presence!"

"I refuse to serve as potions master with that reckless freak still employed at Hogwarts. That's my final word on the subject."

"Remus is not the true cause of your pain Severus, and besides, your objection is moot. He has resigned from his post."

Snape looked at Dumbledore in surprise, but remained silent.

"You made his continued presence at Hogwarts untenable when you told your students about his…condition."

"Do you believe you ever make mistakes Dumbledore?"

"What?"

"Do you?"

"I make mistakes just like any man," Dumbledore responded while turning his palms up in a show of supplication. "In fact, being rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"Lupin was a mistake, hiring him was reckless. You're so quick to forgive, sometimes you forget to punish. You think I informed my students due to some childhood grudge? You once told me to never forget a teacher's ultimate responsibility – the students and their well-being is paramount, held above all else.

"He forgot to drink the brew Dumbledore, he forgot to take the Wolfsbane potion that night! He became the wolf and put lives, innocent children's lives in danger! Would you still be so forgiving if any of your precious students had been ripped apart that night?"

Dumbledore found that he was speechless for a moment. "Remus is a good man."

"And a bad wolf. If he's truly gone…I'll return to my teaching duties."

"Thank you Severus."

"But be warned, if you continue to me mislead me and keep me in the dark, if you never fully put your complete trust in me, than our partnership is forever doomed. Then you're just using me for your ends, no better than the Dark Lord."

Snape turned on his heel and trudged back down the stone alleyway. Dumbledore quietly stared out at the freighter for a few more moments and then turned to follow after his potions master.

The dirt yard fell quiet as the pair of footsteps faded, only the sounds of the dock remained. A few seconds later a small rat poked its stubby head out from one of the discarded box tops in the dirt yard. It tilted its head to the side and listened for a few tense moments. Satisfied the dangerous men had gone, it scrambled across the yard, through the chain link fence and out to the wet docks – the waiting freighter loomed large in the distance, a sleeping giant waiting patiently for its final passenger.

* * *

Sailing the high seas on a vast ship, hauling large cargo across the seven seas where danger lurked around every wave – there was nothing like it, what a rush! Working on dry bulk ships was the final frontier, the dangerous wild-west, the last manly job left in the world. Technology was taking over, automating everything, cameras everywhere, breaking down wild men into mindless lemmings. Out in international waters you could still be a real man, follow your own rules, traveling from port to port doing whatever you wanted – this was how men were meant to live.

Thurmond Grendel looked out over the Red Queen's railing, watching the ship's rudder cut though the salty water. He loved working on large freighters; working for seven, eight months at a time and then spending his earnings over the next three months on as much booze, pills and women as he wanted. After a few weeks of recovering from the debauchery, he'd catch another ship and start the cycle all over again.

Tonight the Red Queen would drop anchor in Albania he thought with a smile – the enchanting Mistress Charlotte resided near the docks. He was still smarting over the last night he spent with her, absentmindedly rubbing his crotch as a smile crossed his lips. Thurmond shucked the last of his orange and threw the peel on the ground, watching it bounce away. He then licked his fingers clean of the sticky juice and headed back to the cargo bay below deck. It was already five minutes past his break and he didn't want to give the sadistic foreman another reason to dock his pay ahead of their next stop – his dark tastes didn't run cheap.

Just a few minutes after Thurmond left the platform, two rats scurried onto it and began sniffing around the orange peel. It must have met their standards because they each began to chew on the citric rind with abandon.

"Still planning to disembark tonight?" squealed a shabby looking brown rat with patches of fur missing along its coat.

"Yes," replied a skinny grey rat with dirty, matted fur. The rat had a whiny voice, beady black eyes and was missing a toe on its right foot.

"That would be unwise my friend. Why not stay with me on the Queen? She'll be finished with Europe soon enough and will soon head down towards the African coast. Oh! The food and spices! I'm telling you friend, you've never tasted anything like it."

Wormtail didn't respond as he continued to stuff his face with the skin of the orange.

"And besides my friend, I've heard stories from other brothers. A dark menace lurks in the woods near the port, something evil that feeds on small creatures like us."

Wormtail spat out some of the rind and looked up at his fellow passenger. "The menace is what I seek."

* * *

The inn was normally quiet at this time of night, as most patrons had either retired to bed or were lounging tranquilly by a roasting fire. Tonight, the only sounds came from a couple tucked away in a back corner, their heads close together and voices low. Conspiring to rob a bank or making plans to elope, thought the barkeep with a smile – he would normally have asked them to leave as they had not rented a room and the hour was late, but their generous tip kept him at bay. He turned his attention from the shadowy couple to his depleted bar, and he headed down to the cellar with a sigh for there was no rest for the weary, time to restock the bar in advance of tomorrow's crowd.

Huddled close together at a table near the back of the inn was a most unlikely couple, an absentminded old witch from the British Ministry of Magic and a wizard long thought dead by all but a precious few – Bertha Jorkins and Peter Pettigrew.

"This is simply amazing Peter, you've been a spy for the Ministry this whole time?"

"Yes, I survived the deadly attack from that mass murderer Sirius Black. In fact, it was Fudge himself who saved me that day and eventually recruited me into the Ministry."

"I see, how extraordinary! But why have you not shown yourself to the world all these years? Why stay hidden?"

"Umm, well, you see…staying hidden was all Fudge's idea. He said I'd be of better use to the Ministry if everyone believed I was dead. That it would be easier for me to gather information this way."

"Information on what?"

Peter licked his lips, tasting the nervous perspiration – stupid old Bertha, what rotten luck she spotted me tonight. Peter slipped his hand into his pocket, the presence of the wand there felt reassuring. He looked around, most of the muggles in here would not be a problem, but he'd rather not make a mess and draw any undue attention.

"One more glass?"

"What? Oh no, thank you. It's quite late and I have an early start tomorrow morning, I'll be visiting my aunt. Anyway, what exactly have you been doing all these years? What information have you been gathering?"

"Oh come now, I haven't seen you in so long! Just one teensy little bit of wine. Please don't make me drink alone."

"Alright then, just one more drink. Ohh! That's plenty." Bertha's cheeks took on a ruddy color as she sipped the dry Chianti, the additional alcohol pushing her from happiness to inebriation.

"Oh you know, all kinds of information. In fact I thought you were my contact when I saw you tonight."

"Contact?"

"Why yes. I was supposed to meet with a Ministry official tonight and give my report. I was told it'd be a very important person I'd be meeting with tonight, someone very high up on the Ministry ladder. And of course I thought it must be you, when I saw you…you've always been so successful…"

"Well, thank you, yes…I suppose I have done quite well for myself. But the truth is I'm here on a holiday, not Ministry business."

Peter's hand gripped the wand harder in his pocket, his knuckles turning white. He looked around the bar and then leaned in towards Bertha. He stank of the woods and hot sweat, for Peter had been in the company of rats for weeks and was in need of a bath and some new clothes. But his disheveled appearance was lost on the oblivious and now drunk Bertha Jorkins.

"I've something terribly important to tell the Minister, but I'm afraid we may be overheard in here," said Peter, as he glance around in mock apprehension. "Shall we go outside and talk alone? Can I trust you with the information?"

Bertha looked at this disgusting, shifty character – something did not seem right. But instead of raising the alarm, she simply said,  
"Yes."

* * *

Peter and Bertha had been traversing the dark woods near the Albanian coast for weeks, but had come across no one. Another dark night was fast approaching, and with it another dose of frustration for Peter. No real food for weeks, sleeping on dirt and mud! Maybe the Dark Lord isn't here! Oh God, now that Sirius knows I'm alive no one but Him will be able to protect me. Peter slumped down on a moldy log and turned to Bertha, who was standing next to him, staring vacantly into space.

"Bertha, make camp and find me some berries – night will soon be upon us."

Bertha remained standing and mute, eyes unfocused, not acknowledging Peter's instructions – not acknowledging anything for that matter. Peter stared at her with impatience, finally yelling, "Bertha! Move your ass!"

When she still stayed rooted to the ground, Peter let out a long sigh and pointed a long wand her, the Dark Lord's wand. It felt heavy and powerful and oh so wonderful to use. Peter feel like a different person when he wielded it, like a real man. "Imperio!"

It was the most wonderful feeling – Bertha had been fighting against the curse, but now she felt a calm water wash over everything. All her thoughts and worries floated away, only a vague sense of happiness remained. She felt relaxed and at peace with the world, the horrible images sloshing around in her mind began to melt away. The memory of Peter savagely attacking her outside the inn, the weeks spent alone in the dark woods with that animal…the things he did to her when the sun went down…all those disturbing memories slipped away and she became an oblivious, blissfully ignorantly blank slate.

Bertha heard Peter's voice echoing in a distant part of her head: _Find some bramble and make a fire…Bring me some wild berries…Good, now catch some squirrels and roast them…Now fetch me some water…Well done Bertha, well done…I'm sure you must be tired…Lay down next to me…Good…That feels nice Bertha…Give me your hand, I want to show you something…_

Peter was so engrossed with fulfilling his deepest desires that he failed to notice a large, green snake slithering towards him. It was roughly twelve feet long and as thick as a man's thigh. Its forked tongue shot out in rapid succession, drawn to the pheromones it tasted in the air. Trailing behind the large snake was a dark shadow that had no right to be there, for there the flickering light from the camp fire was too weak to create it. The shadow hovered over the snake, black as the darkest night. The playing light of the campfire seemed to shrink in fear as the black cloud approached.

Peter felt a warning shiver crunch on his spine and suddenly stopped what he was doing, slowly turning his head around in dread. All the power and control that had been flowing in his veins seeped out of him in a terrifying flash. The large snake and hovering black cloud sapped him of the dominance and superiority he had just been filled with. Peter's shoulders slouched low and he twisted his now limp body off of his victim and stared wide in terror.

The snake and dark shadow kept advancing, a slow moving but terrifying dance in the night air. As the dark shadow passed by the camp fire, it consumed the light and left the campsite in total darkness.

The only sounds that now remained were the crackling of the final embers of a snuffed out camp fire, the labored breathing of poor Bertha Jorkins, and the muffled whimpering of the wretched Peter Pettigrew.


	35. His Most Faithful Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord rescues a long forgotten soldier.

**Chapter 35**

**His Most Faithful Servant**

"Do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Do you truly love me?"

Bartemius Crouch delved deeply into his wife's dark amber eyes and was transported to cherished memories of the past. She had always been his ray of sunshine, his savior – she had transformed a feeble, timid teenager into a strong, confident man. Going to his fraternity cotillion and taking Miss Alicia Knott was the best decision Bartemius ever made in his life.

"Of course I love you, more than life itself."

"Then do this one final thing for me, please…help me save my baby."

Bartemius looked away from his wife and his baleful eyes found the dark fortress looming behind her. The sight of Azkaban always sent shivers down his spine, even though he had visited the island several times before after handing down stern prison sentences. Tonight the sky was filled with swirling grey clouds, dropping sheets of rain onto the dark island below. Bartemius wrapped up his frail wife in his skinny arms, holding on to her for dear life – they had just exited a Ministry plane and were standing at the edge of the island. Waves crashed against a wooden pier, the ocean spray spritzing the drenched couple.

This was madness! Bartemius would be jeopardizing everything he and Alicia had worked and struggled to achieve. And for what? An ungrateful petulant son, a bastard who never cared about anyone but himself! They say you can't choose your parents, well, you can't choose your children either.

Bartemius gripped his precious wife even tighter and rested his cheek on the top of her head. The love he felt for her held no bounds, it had filled him up and sustained him for the past 25 years. He had never been able to deny her anything, had never once said no to her in all his life, but this was crazy. Nothing good could come from this foolishness.

The frigid ocean spray hung thick in the air; large raindrops fell like icicles from the heavens; the wind, a frozen rope chilling the gloomy pair to the bone – but all of a sudden Bartemius felt a deeper frost, something that chilled his inner essence. The Dementors had awakened.

* * *

Bartemius looked down at his beautiful wife, sleeping peacefully in their son's old bedroom. She was slight and frail – a former shell of the vibrant, strong woman she had been. Her eyes were no longer full of zest and youthful exuberance; her hair was grey and tangled, no longer the vivid auburn he remembered; her face, gaunt and skeletal, had lost the healthy cherubic countenance he had kissed so passionately on their wedding day. His son's life imprisonment – a sentence Bartemius himself had handed down – had ravaged Alicia like a terrible sickness, it had been as though she herself had languished in Azkaban alongside her son.

As Bartemius stared longingly at his wife, she began to shake violently and her features began to grotesquely distort. Her bones twisted and turned with harsh crunches, her arms and legs suddenly lengthening of their own accord. Her face slanted into a terrifying mish mash of skin, as if her facial muscles had lost all tension and firmness. Her greying hair shortened to small black strands, her white fingernails lengthened into dark chipped edges, and her amber pupils turned jet black.

Bartemius watched in disgust as his treasured wife transformed into the evil spawn he had fathered many years before – how could a son be so unlike his father? Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Jr. was finally home. Bartemius slipped out his wand and looked down at his namesake, an awful rictus of a smile on his lips.

How could my own blood have turned down such a dark path? Where, oh where, had I gone wrong? I gave him everything, provided him with an upbringing I could only have dreamt about – the best schools, expensive clothes, special training! He had every opportunity to succeed, every chance to become a great man and help further the wizarding world. Instead the selfish boy had turned into an arrogant monster, had willingly walked down a path of racism and evil.

Bartemius pointed his wand at his son and whispered an incantation of dark magic, he then slowly trudged to the bedroom door, stepped out into an empty hallway and found himself looking down at a waiting house-elf.

"Is the missus feeling okay Master Crouch?"

Bartemius did something he had not done in over twenty years – the proud man began to weep.

* * *

Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Jr. screamed in hot frustration, but no sound echoed forth. He wanted to slam his fists against the walls and lash out, but his arms stayed still and disobedient. He yearned to kick out in anger, but his muscles refused to comply. He could feel his father's imperious curse weakening, yet he could not shake off the burdensome yoke. He had tasted blessed freedom earlier in the summer at the Quidditch Word Cup – had been reinvigorated by that small adventure. The feeling of being in control again was delicious and he wanted that power back. Barty had been drifting in a dense fog for years, had been sleeping uselessly for far too long – it was time to break free!

Bartemius Crouch Sr. stood over his son, who lay prone on a large sofa in the family living room, and pointed his wand down at him, redoubling the strength of his imperious curse. His son struggled against the dark magic, fighting hard to regain his own free will. "Will you stop fighting me Barty, it's of no use – I won't let you escape ever again. You're last advocate is gone for I've sent that blasted house-elf away – from now on, it'll just be you and me in this big empty house."

"You're wrong …you're not alone…"

The hairs on the back of Bartemius' neck stood up straight in absolute fright, the unexpected voice sending fear shooting through his body. The voice was strangely high-pitched and cold, like a sudden blast of icy wind. Bartemius lowered his wand as a short balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose and watery eyes, brushed by him and began to revive Barty from the after effects of a prolonged imperious curse.

The icy voice continued, "You sent many of my loyal servants away, made them unduly suffer in the false name of justice. You slandered my noble reputation, sullied all that I had worked hard to build."

Bartemius stared blankly ahead as Wormtail propped up his son's limp body and poured a greenish liquid into Barty's waiting mouth. He continued to watch as color returned to his son's cheeks and light began to flicker in the long vacant eyes.

"You must pay for your crimes Bartemius. Turn around and look at me, you've the right to face your accuser…"

Bartemius slowly turned around against his will, terrified at the sudden change of events. This was incomprehensible! How had his shameful secret been discovered? Bartemius scrunched his eyes up tight, not wanting to face the high-pitched voice. He could hear the Wormtail moving behind him, could hear his son beginning to breathe normally again as he broke free from the curse's hold.

"Look at me Bartemius. Look into the eyes of your redeemer…"

Bartemius felt his eyes slowly opening and laid his eyes on the horrible sigh that was Lord Voldemort. His face gave an involuntary twitch of disgust – My God!

"IMPERIO!"

* * *

_…Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears._

_". . . Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems — please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there —"_

_"Here!" said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands._

_"— it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," said Mr. Diggory's head. "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off — if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur —"_

_"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes._

_Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."_

_"What did the dustbins do?" asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically._

_"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," said Mr. Diggory. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up —"_

_Mr. Weasley groaned._

_"And what about the intruder?"_

_"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," said Mr. Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. "Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it — think of his record — we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth?"_

_"Might be a caution," said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"_

_"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window," said Mr. Diggory, "but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties."_

_"All right, I'm off," Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again…_

…Arthur Weasley felt a familiar squeezing sensation and then his feet hit solid ground. He stood on a freshly mown lawn, in front of a lovely townhome, on the corner of a residential neighborhood. Looking around he saw scattered trashcans, crumpled flower beds and a crowd of muggles staring at the townhouse from the across street. A group of police officers were talking loudly with each other and a man in a long black cloak. And off to the side, standing alone and looking mad as hell, was a gnarled and mean looking wizard.

What the hell has that crazy Auror done this time? Arthur let out a long sigh and began walking up the police officers with the most encouraging smile he could muster…

* * *

…A weathered man stood stark naked in front of a full length mirror, glowing eerily from moonlight streaming into his bedroom through a large window pane. His hair was a twisted mane of grey knots and tangles that was marbled with blonde white streaks, remnants from his more youthful days. He leaned heavily upon a long oaken staff, for his right leg was missing and in its place stood a notched wooden peg, made of red oak and maple. His face was rough and mean – it appeared as if it had been carved out of weathered wood by a sculptor who had only the vaguest idea of what a human face should look like.

His coarse skin was scarred and burned, living breathing sandpaper. His mouth was a diagonal gash and a large chunk of his nose was missing. Faded cuts and gashes covered his chest and back, for wounds from dark magic never healed properly and his white skin was mixed with angry red blotches and rubbery scar tissue, faded stiches crawled along his arms and leg.

His right eye was small, dark and beady – a dark pinwheel. It had seen much, borne terrible witness to a great many tragedies and atrocities – friends murdered, enemies slain and innocents tortured. The other eye was large, round as a coin and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye moved ceaselessly, never blinked, and moved independently of the right eye – right now it was whirling all around its socket, allowing the wizard to see 360 degrees.

To the right of the man lay a large wooden desk, upon which stood large, glass spinning top. Next to the desk was a small table, which held an object that looked like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial – it was humming and shimmering in the moonlight. A large mirror hung on the far wall, but it was not reflecting the bedroom, instead, shadowy figures moved around within the mirror, though none of them was clearly in focus.

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody stared at his gruesome reflection – a retirement gift after thirty years of battling dark wizards. Moody suffered from the frustratingly ignominious fate that so many other brave warriors in human history had – relegation to a retirement of neglect where past heroic deeds were long forgotten by an ungrateful public.

When the Death Eaters were at the height of their powers, the Ministry and general populace had leaned heavily on brave men like Moody. They needed his courage on the front lines, his courage in the face of evil and his valor in defending the innocent. Moody had given his life and soul, literal pieces of his body, to combatting dark wizards and their twisted brand of magic – in payment for these services rendered, the Ministry and wider wizarding public had given him a meager pension and a few rickety medals.

Moody closed his eyes and ran a gnarled hand through his long grey hair, pulling at the angry knots that never seemed to smooth out. He reached for a brown trench coat draped across a small chair and dug into the pockets, eventually finding a small canister. He tipped a few different colored pills out of the canister into his palm and gulped them down in a single breath – almost immediately the dull pain in his joints began to ease and he felt a tiny bit of relief from the every present pain.

He limped over to a large, four post bed and tugged on a large sweater and some warm leggings – the cold nights always wreaked havoc on his beat up body. He groaned with the bed as he plopped down onto the old mattress and lay back. As was his nightly custom he whispered an ancient prayer to long forgotten Gods and gave the room one final wary glance before he tucked his weary bones into bed.

Moody had shut his eyes for only a moment when they flashed open again and flicked towards the spinning glass top. It whined and hissed and began to spin as if a strong wing was passing over it. The aerial's slight humming picked up in intensity until it began shaking so violently it whipped right off the table top. Moody snapped his head towards the strange mirror hanging on the opposite wall – the shadowy figures were becoming clearer, Moody could now see the whites of their eyes.

Moments later Moody tore out of his bedroom with the speed of a younger man. He wore black boots and the trench coat, with a small knapsack tightly secured on his back. He deftly sprinted down his second floor hallway and slid down an old wooden bannister, barely making a sound. He leapt off the bannister and landed in a tight roll, as he came up he fired a stunning spell at a shadow quietly moving through his open front door. The red streak flew past the shadow, through the front door and exploded into his front year, sending up an eruption of grass and dirt.

"He's awake!"

"You bumbling fool!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Don't kill him you idiot!"

Moody dove behind a large sofa and threw a handful of dust towards the center of his living room – the dust hit the floor with a spark and plunged the entire room into total darkness. Moody calmly sat up against the leather backed couch and tried to comprehend what the hell was going on.

He had always been on alert since the jackasses at the Ministry had pushed him out of their employ. It was true that, ever since his exit from government employment, he had a tendency to overreact to strangers in an aggressive manner, which had given rise to his jocular nickname – but his so called "paranoia" was the only reason he was in a boring retirement and not a deep dark hole in the ground. And tonight, in his very home, his worst fears had finally come to fruition.

There were two of them, one clearly the leader of this criminal expedition, and they had somehow gotten past all of his safeguards and protective enchantments with ease, had been able to breach his front door before he had even realized he was in the danger. And stranger still, they didn't want him dead. Why? Must be Hogwarts!

The only change in his life recently had been Dumbledore's urgent request – Moody was off to that great big castle, to be useful once again. This attack must have something to do with his new teaching post!

Moody reached into his knap sack, pulled out a fake tooth and jammed it into the back of his mouth – a trick he had picked up watching a muggle movie a few years back. The fake tooth was a soft capsule that would release a deadly poison if Moody bit down on it, instantly killing the former Auror before he could be captured or tortured – I'll be damned if I'm ever taken prisoner again!

The darkness had begun to dissipate, spurring Moody back into action. He reached into his coat, grabbed a circular disk and threw it up high. The disk hovered in the as if deciding on a course of action and then shot off towards a far wall, smacking into the wood. The disk projected out a hologram of Moody, complete with him waving a wand and shouting. Immediately two stunning spells shot off towards the hologram, the dual red beams flying through the projection and blasting a large holes into the wall.

Moody watched the beams, judged where one of their casters was standing, reached his arm over the sofa and fired off a spell, "Incarcerous!"

Thick black robes shot out of his wand and flew towards a small, chubby man in a dark corner of the living room. They wrapped themselves around the man's legs, pulling tight as pythons. He gave shriek of fright, swayed violently and then slammed into the floor.

"I can't move Barty!"

"Shut up Wormtail! Use your wand and free yourself!"

Moody ran the names through his dark magic mental rolodex, but came up empty. Wormtail? Barty? Who were these cretins? Moody rolled away from the sofa and came up roaring – "Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous! Locomotor Mortis!"

"Protego!" – a gleaming shield appeared in front of Barty and Moody's spells bounced around the living room, destroying the furniture and what remained of the walls. Barty then grabbed the legs of a small table and swung the furniture towards Moody while yelling, "Expelliarmus!"

Moody ducked out of the harm's way, but the flying furniture distraction allowed the disarming jinx to hit him. His hand burned as his wand shot out from his grip and soared away, clattering uselessly to the ground. Barty's triumphant smile quickly melted into fear as Moody charged him in a tightly controlled rage. Moody tackled the startled wizard and slammed him into the ground, his grizzled body landing on top of Barty's skinny frame. A loud snapping told Moody that he had fractured one of the Death Eater's ribs.

Barty squirmed in pain, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Moody leaned in close and whispered, "Different when you've got to fight someone up close, isn't boy?"

Moody pushed his forearm into Barty's chest and wrestled away his wand, flinging it aside; he grabbed Barty by the throat and squeezed tight – Barty's mouth opened wide in terror. Moody shifted forward and drove his knee into Barty's chest, then reached into his own mouth and yanked out the fake tooth, which he dropped into Barty's gaping maw. He then put a large palm over Barty's mouth and reared back with his other hand. "Let's see if you can survive this, you filth!"

Moody filled his clenched fist with all the frustration and pent up anger he had been feeling – for my fallen comrades!

"Crucio!"

The torture curse hit Moody with the force of a runaway train – he flew off Barty and slammed into the bannister, shattering both the wood and his left arm. It felt as though all his old scars were ripped open anew, he thrashed around in agony like a worm on the hook – he would surely die from this mind splitting pain at any moment. After a few agonizing seconds of the torture, the torment subsided as quickly as it had come. Moody lay twisted and broken on his back, barely able to lift his head. He stared at the ceiling, scorch marks from rebounded curses lined the wood. He could hear footsteps, heavy breathing and excited voices filling his living room.

"Took you long enough! What the hell were you doing while I was having the life chocked out of me?"

"I was under duress too, there were heavy ropes suffocating –"

"Suffocating? They were around your legs you blithering idiot!"

"You were told to treat me with respect!"

"Shup up Wormtail and close the bloody door. Your bumbling stupidity has caused quite a ruckus and lost us precious time! Get this damned room cleaned up, the muggles must've heard the racket and raised an alarm by now, the Ministry will be here soon."

Moody's body still spasmed from the pain that had wracked his body just moments ago, his dizzying blue eye spinning uncontrollably in circles. Barty's bleeding face appeared over him, blood dripped from his cut lips and splashed onto Moody's face – he spat out the fake tooth and yanked out a long grey hair from the Auror's mane, giving the old warrior a twisted grin.

"The Dark Lord sends his regards."

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, Severus Snape dropped the blue-glass jar of toad hearts he had been carrying to the Hogwarts' store rooms. The glass hit the metal stone floor and shattered into a thousand tiny blue pieces – pickled juice and small hearts splashing all over his black sandals. Snape clutched left forearm in a tight spasm; he rolled up his sleeve and let out a quick gasp – his long dormant dark mark burned white hot, a forked tongue smiling up at him.

 


	36. And so it Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His most faithful servant reenters the Dark Lord's service.

**Chapter 36**

**And so it Begins**

"I swear the mark was clear as day!" Snape exclaimed, spittle flying everywhere, as he stared earnestly into frustratingly calm blue eyes, twinkling behind half-mood spectacles.

"I believe you Severus."

"Yet you don't heed my warnings?! What're you playing at? Are you still keeping secrets from me?"

"What would you have me do?"

"Cancel the tournament and take further precautions in securing the school!"

"Please keep your voice down."

Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were standing at the top of a flight of stairs that led down to the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and some of the incoming students were shooting them puzzled glances as Snape's shouts floated echoed around the hall.

There was a nervous excitement floating about the air, as there always was during the first night of a new wizarding school year. This evening a great rainstorm raged in the night sky, welcoming the incoming student body with torrential rain and thunderous lightning – it would be a bumpy ride across the lake for the first years tonight.

Snape glared at Dumbledore and then looked down the stairs – student were slipping and sliding into the entrance hall, completely soaked to their skin. A cackling laugh drew Snape's eye up to the ceiling and he watched as Peeves soared mischievously through the air, dropping large water filled balloons on unsuspecting students. As Professor McGonagall's threats of punishment rang out over the screams of the student, Snape turned angrily back to the stoic Headmaster.

"Something's changed; it prickles every now and then."

"Let me see it."

"Not here! I implore you to again reconsider this venture!"

"Severus, I do believe you and I am taking your warning seriously, but I cannot just cancel the tournament. It took years of planning and negotiation to organize this event – it would be a foreign relations catastrophe to call it off at the last minute, a colossal insult to all those involved."

"The great Dumbledore thinks it will be a public relations catastrophe to cancel a student tournament? You're letting hubris get in the way of the students' safety, of the boy's safety!"

"You know I'm not concerned with which school comes out victorious, the tournament represents more than just crowning a worthy student champion. It's about bringing people together, forging relationships that cross country borders – the worldwide magical community needs to come together and I think this will be a great start, a vanguard event that will lead to global partnerships."

Snape grabbed his left forearm and stared hard at Dumbledore, "Something's not right – what about the commotion at the World Cup? Only a Death Eater would know how to cast that spell, only someone who had been willingly invited into the dark circle…my mark burned, I swear it…I can feel His presence."

"Then it's more important than ever that the tournament go on as scheduled."

Snape watched in hot frustration as Dumbledore started down the stairs to welcome some of the incoming students – the stubborn old man never listens!

Snape found himself seated at the staff table a few minutes later, to the left Professor Sinistra – the talented teacher of Astronomy was deep in conversation with Professor Sprout. To Snape's left was an empty seat, Professor McGonagall was tending to her opening night duties. He stared quietly out at the wet sea of students filling up the Great Hall – stupid lemmings, all oblivious to the coming dark storm. Snape glanced to his left and felt disgust as he watched Dumbledore grinning and waving at the students, as if he had not a care in the world.

Snape crossed his arms in sullen silence, playing the malcontent, as the usual opening night events took place: McGonagall called for attention as she brought out a three-legged stool and the Sorting Hat, the Sorting Hat performed its opening soliloquy and then sorted the freshman class into their respective houses (Snape could already tell this year's Slytherin class would be a bunch of idiots), Dumbledore gave his familiar refrain of _"Tuck in"_ and the empty dishes around the hall magically filled with delicious food that Snape barely touched, earning him disapproving looks from both McGonagall and Sinistra, and then, finally, Dumbledore stood up to address the now dry and sated crowd.

The clamor of the hall died down and the Headmaster broke into his opening remarks. As Dumbledore droned on, Snape stared blankly ahead with unfocused eyes – his belly squirming with feelings of indignation, from the fact his dire warnings were once again being rebuffed by the Headmaster, and feelings of anxiousness, caused by nagging worry that the Dark Lord could be returning to power. Snape was dimly aware that Dumbledore had finally gotten around to announcing the fact that Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, when there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A wave of convulsion rippled through Snape as he gripped his chair tight and he swallowed down the urge to vomit – Alastor Moody stood in the doorway, looking every bit as hard and mean as Snape remembered. The most famous Auror of all time, the man who had killed more dark wizards than anyone else in history, the warrior responsible for filling half the cells in Azkaban. Snape had been so preoccupied this summer that his thoughts had never wandered over to the vacant DADA post.

Snape shot a sideways at Dumbledore, that bastard lied to me! To be fair, Snape had never asked Dumbledore about the teaching position, but he was too angry to think straight and his shock at seeing Moody flowed in anger directed at the Headmaster.

Moody's good eye focused on his empty seat at the staff table, but his vivid blue eye whizzed around its socket in crazy excitement. It passed over the expectant faces of the staff, the knowing faces of the older students and the scared faces of the younger children. It paused over Harry's confused look, my God! It's him, the Boy-Who-Lived! The eye moved on and came to a spinning stop on Dumbledore's smiling face, the old fool doesn't know! The eye whizzed around the hall once more and finally came to rest on a sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired man who was staring at Moody with a mix of shock and terror.

* * *

Snape's dungeon office was dark and cluttered, a true reflection of its owner. The gloomy and dimly-lit room was spacious but, as the walls were crammed with shelves of large glass jars filled with disgusting things and the floor littered with old books, it had the appearance of being much too cramped. Along a wall was a deep, dark fireplace that was alight with yellow flames and in one corner was a large cupboard containing Snape's private stores. The old cupboard and the glass jars contained inside appeared mundane, but the ingredients stored within were worth thousands of galleons, some were truly priceless if one had a discerning eye for potionry.

Snape stoked the fire with an angry poke and then strode to the stone wall opposite the fireplace. He placed his palm on a blank space of wall and then quickly removed it. The stone glowed green for a moment and then the wall swung inward. Snape stepped into a hidden room that only Dumbledore and former school potions masters knew existed. Inside was a magnificent black cauldron, which lay atop of a small fire grate, and a sparkling clean counter top made of rare white marble. The walls were lined with a few shelves upon which stood jars of the rarest and most sought after potion ingredients in the world. On one of the shelves lay a golden stirring rod, black leather gloves and a silver mortar and pestle. The immaculate brewing room stood in stark contrast to Snape's outer office.

As Snape was about to step inside, the knob on his office turned and he heard someone trying to open the door.

"Open up ya scoundrel! Whaddya got your office locked for anyways?"

Snape mood went from gloomy to irked at the sound of the gruff voice – he pressed his palm back onto the hidden stone doorway and it quickly swung shut. Snape crossed over to his office door and tried to control his emotions – an angry mind is an easy mind to read. Moody had been haunting his steps since the opening night feast and it sounded like he was in the mood for another row.

Snape took a deep breath and opened the door, steadying himself for another fight. Standing in front of Snape's office door was Moody, but the battle hardened Auror was not alone – Draco Malfoy stood sheepishly alongside him.

"What's this all about?"

"Caught one of your students misbehaving in the hallways and thought the three of us should have a little chat about bad decisions and the consequences they lead to. You'd be familiar with that, wouldn't ya Snape?"

"He turned me into a ferret!"

"What?"

"Aye, I thought it was a just punishment."

"We never use transfiguration as a means of punishment you crazy old man! Unhand Draco, now!"

Moody appeared as if he was going to refuse, but then let go of Draco. Snape reached out and pulled the boy into his office.

"I will speak with my student and find out what happened, and if it turns out you over stepped your authority, I'll make sure you never step foot inside this castle again!"

"Is that so?" barked Moody. "Now you listen here –" but Moody never got to finish his sentence as Snape slammed the door in the Auror's stunned face.

Snape locked the door with a wave of his hand and turned to look at a sullen and red faced Draco Malfoy. Moody began pounding on the office door with his staff, demanding to be let in. Snape gave another wave of his hand and the commotion outside fell away, the only sound that remained was the crackling of burning logs in the fireplace.

Snape looked down at the young Slytherin, such a damned shame! So much untapped and wasted potential in this one, a continuing disappointment to both me and his father!

Draco was a slender boy with sleek white-blond hair, light grey eyes and a stunningly pale complexion. He was a mix of his father's noble features and his mother's stunning good looks. His straw hair was long and straight, but Snape could already see the beginnings of a widow's peak on the young man's forehead.

"Speak Draco."

Draco's embarrassment and shock were wearing off now that he was safely ensconced inside his trusted teacher's private quarters, and his arrogance returned.

"That crazed old maniac turned me into a ferret! You hear me?! A goddamned ferret!"

"What exactly happened?"

"I was defending myself against Saint Potter and Moody interfered on his behalf of course! Turned me into a filthy animal in front of the whole school! You just wait till my father hears about this!"

Snape let out a long sigh and plopped himself down into a comfortable arm chair facing the blazing fire, holding out an arm to a chair seated across from him. Draco hemmed and hawed but eventually found his way into a comfy chair draped in green leather with silver trim.

"So?! Are you going to do something about this? I swear, when my father hears about –"

"That's quite enough Draco, your usual threats won't work on me."

"Taking Potter and Moody's side are you? My father will not be pleased at all!"

Snape replied with a look of annoyed disappointment.

"He'll hear about this, I'm telling you! He'll be furious you let this happen!"

"I've known you're father longer than you've breathed air, done things with him that would make your blood curl. You think Lucius would every doubt my loyalty or judgement? Do you?!"

Draco sunk back in his chair and stared at the crackling fire.

"Answer me young man."

"No."

"No what?!"

"No…sir."

Such a sensitive boy, no matter how hard he tries to show the world he's not. Snape absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm as he stared at the mini-Lucius, deciding what tack to take this time.

"What happened, really?"

"I told you! Potter attacked me and then Moody humiliated me in front of the whole school."

"Draco please take a look around," said Snape as he waved an arm around in a show of impatience. "Once again we find ourselves in my office and once again I have cast a sound charm. There is no one to hear you but me, and therefore no reason to hold back. I'm always honest with you and feel I deserve the same courtesy."

Draco looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle and then burst out, "I was giving Potter and that filthy blood traitor Weasley a good and deserved tongue thrashing and then Potter insulted my mother, the insolent git."

"And then?"

"And then I hexed him."

"Why did Moody intervene on Potter's behalf?"

"I hexed him as he was turning away from me."

None of his father's guile or cunningness, what a damned waste of good genes. He was much more like his mother – a beautiful outer shell, but soft as down on the inside.

"What have we talked about Draco? Why do you still insist on behaving like this?"

"I should do nothing, while he walks around school acting 'holier than thou'?!"

"No, I've never once told you not to stick up for yourself or protect your friends. But why do you insist on taking the cowardly path every time? I've seen flashes of courage and brilliance from you, but whenever you're around that prat you lose your composure so completely."

Snape waved his wand towards a table in the corner – a decanter magically lifted up in the air, poured small fingers of fire whiskey into two crystal glasses and set itself back down. The two crystal glasses then floated towards the pair sitting by the fire, hovering near both student and teacher.

"Potter is protected by forces unseen to you Draco, watched over by those you know not. I once again implore you to use caution around him and keep your wits about you, ok?"

"Yes sir," Draco quietly muttered. "Is this that new type of alcohol my dad was talking about?"

"The very same, he presented me with a case of it a few weeks ago," Snape replied as he took a small sip and let the liquid wind a burning path down his throat. "It is truly exquisite."

"I thought dad said it was illegal in Britain."

"No, your father was speaking about a certain type of absinthe. This is fire whiskey."

"You're letting me have some?"

"Draco, I feel you're wise beyond your years and can handle a small taste. I trust you'll only tell your father – giving a student alcohol is grounds for immediate dismissal at Hogwarts."

Draco smirked at the privilege of doing something outside the rules, loved the thought of being included in Snape and his father's antics. He took a sip, made a sour face and immediately spat out the expensive alcohol, coughing violently. Snape couldn't help allowing himself a small smile as he watched the boy struggle with the taste.

"Okay Draco, time to head back to class."

"I'm sorry sir, it actually tasted quite good. I've had whiskey loads of times, honest."

"I'm sure you have, this type of fire whiskey is an acquired taste. Now run along."

Draco got up and headed towards the door.

"And Draco?"

"Yes sir?"

"Next time you hex Potter with his back turned, make sure there no teachers around."

* * *

Snape sat quietly at the staff table, tucking into a veritable feast lying before him on a golden plate. He had to admit the Great Hall looked terrific and the food was absolutely top notch – Filch and the Hogwarts' house-elves had really outdone themselves tonight. If the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang delegations were not impressed with this welcome, Snape had no idea what would have been up to their standards.

Dumbledore had begun to address the assembled crowd and normally Snape would have let his thoughts wander as the Headmaster droned on, but the truth was the sullen potions master was just as interested in what Dumbledore had to say as anyone else. The Triwizard tournament was an ancient competition that had not been held in hundreds of years and Snape hardly knew anything about it – he felt like a student again, excited to learn something new.

Dumbledore took out his wand and tapped three times on ancient wooden chest encrusted with jewels. The lid creaked slowly open and Dumbledore reached inside and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. Dancing blue-white flames erupted from the mouth of the cup, casting the Headmaster in an eerie white glow. Dumbledore then closed the casket and placed the cup carefully on top of it, clearly visible to everyone in the Great Hall.

As Dumbledore continued on, explaining the rules of the tournament, Snape found he was unable to listen. He only had eyes for the Goblet, and the dancing flames contained within…

…An hour later Snape was still seated at the staff table, gazing happily into the mesmerizing flames. The Great Hall had mostly emptied and all that remained were a small group Hogwarts staff and key tournament personnel.

The massive Madame Maxime stood near the Goblet, dwarfing the large cup. She had a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Skulking behind her was the tall, thin frame of Igor Karkaroff – his sleek silver hair was combed straight back, his yellow teeth shone in the fire light and his cold, shrewd eyes kept darting back and forth.

Minerva McGonagall was in an animated discussion with the jovial, rotund figure of Ludo Bagman and the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the persnickety Bartemius Crouch. Professors Sprout, Hagrid and Flitwick were seated at the Hufflepuff table, loudly debating the merits of some of the potential contenders for the role of Hogwarts' champion. And standing off to the side was Dumbledore and Moody, heads bent low in quiet conversation.

Finally, Dumbledore clapped his hands, picked up the goblet, and walked to the entrance hall, placing the large cup atop a three-legged stool – the assembled wizards and witches, and two half-giants, quickly followed suit and formed a semi-circle around Dumbledore.

"I would once again like to thank everyone standing here tonight – Igor and Maxime, for putting aside the suspicion and mistrust that has grown unchecked between all our great nations – Ludo and Bartemius, for working tirelessly to organize the tournament and its countless demands – and to my staff, for their continued efforts in securing the school grounds and striving to make it safe for both the champions and the coming spectators.

"And now you shall all bear witness to the drawing of the Age Line, as we have all agreed to exclude students under 17 years of age."

Dumbledore reached into his magenta robe and withdrew an ordinary piece of white chalk. He passed it around the semi-circled group, who each held the piece and inspected it. For most it was a cursory check, but Igor spent several minutes waving his wand over the chalk and muttering inaudible incantations. Moody finally let out a throaty growl and Igor handed it back to Dumbledore, apparently satisfied the chalk held no tricks.

Dumbledore waved his wand over the chalk – it quivered in his palm and then glowed shiny and bright. When the chalk ceased to glow, Dumbledore stooped low and began to draw a long circle around the goblet, cheerily speaking in a sing-song voice:

_Round and round the circle goes_

_Drawn amongst family and friends;_

_No one younger than age seventeen may pass_

_Until the shining golden line ends_

A thin gold line glowed bright once Dumbledore had made it all the way around the cup and then burned itself into the stone floor. The assembled crowd clapped then dispersed – only Dumbledore, Moody and Snape were left in the entrance hall.

"Well, Alastor, Severus – let us retire to our warm beds and rest. I have a feeling it will be a busy year for us all."

"You two run along," replied Moody. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Keep an eye on what?" Snape spat the words out. "You crazy old mug, no one's going to steal the cup."

"Hush child, the adults are talking." Moody kept his eyes on Dumbledore, not acknowledging Snape's look. Snape turned beet red and rushed up to Moody, his scowling grimace stopped mere inches from the weathered mash of skin that was Moody's face.

"That's enough!" said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, "If you two cannot work together this year as respectful colleagues, I will settle for a lack of open hostility towards one another." Dumbledore turned to Snape, "Severus perhaps you could keep watch for an hour or so and make sure no one tries anything funny, confident as I am in my line." Dumbledore then turned to Moody, "Alastor, could you accompany me to my office? I'd like a quick word."

"You want _him_ to keep watch and not me? You trust this…Death Eater over me?"

"Alastor!"

Moody glared hard at Snape and then turned towards the great front door. "Good night Albus. I'm feeling sick and think a bit of night time air might do me some good." Moody stomped through the entrance hall and out into the night.

Snape was shaking with fury, as Moody's words still echoed in his head.

"Do not fret Severus, I shall speak with him."

* * *

Moody found himself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, smiling knowingly to himself, privy to his own private joke. He stood in the shade of a great oak, barely visible in the moonless night. He dropped his staff, unbuckled his traveling cloak and lowered his ever present hip flask. He shed his boots and painfully twisted off his wooden leg. He then reached around to the back of his head and gently removed his one-of-a-kind blue eye and stuffed it in his pocket.

Moody sat and on the ground and then lay back on the cool night grass, staring up at the great oak's long branches. After a few moments, Moody began to violently shake, uncontrollable tremors turned and twisted his body as though he were a rag doll. His scars were disappearing, his skin becoming smooth; his mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair withdrew into the scalp and turned the color of straw. There now lay on the ground a pale-skinned, slightly freckled man with a mop of straw colored hair.

Barty Crouch stood up with a wide smile, arching his back and cracking his knuckles. He breathed in the night air and gave a satisfied sigh – it was a good night to be alive. Barty put on the traveling clock and donned a large hood, covering his head so only his black eyes shone through. He then headed for the only tavern open this late at night.

Barty entered the Hog's Head and gave the tavern a quick look over. It was filled with the usual riff raff and grimy miscreants – there was a group of goblins arguing in Gobbledygook in one dark corner and two hags arm wrestling with a vampire in another. Barty kept searching the room as he slowly walked to bar and finally spotted what he was looking for. He ordered a large pitcher of swirling green liquid and carried it over to a small table near the back.

"Anyone sitting here?" Barty asked a surly looking wizard spinning a dirty glass, nursing the last few drops of his drink.

"Leave me alone, I don't need any bother."

"I don't wanna talk, just need a place to sit and drink in peace. It's crowded tonight."

"You deaf? Said no, didn't I? Leave me be or you'll wish you hadn't walked in here tonight."

"Take it easy pal. How 'bout half my pitcher for a seat?"

The sour faced wizard looked up in surprise at the offer…

…An hour later the grumpy wizard was snoring face down on the dirty bar table and Barty was headed up the back stairs of the tavern to the rooms on the second floor, a pilfered room key in his hand. Barty walked to a room at the end of a long hall, unlocked the door and walked in.

The rooms for rent at the Hog's Head were cheap and for good reason. Barty had stepped into a cramped dirty room, with cracked table tops and a tiny cot for a bed. The only furnishings were a small rocking chair and a large chest of drawers with warped wood. But the room had a tiny fireplace and that was all Barty needed this evening.

Barty crossed to the fireplace and reached into his knapsack and withdrew a handful of glittery, silver powder. He threw the powder into the grate, causing emerald flames to burst into life. He knelt down quickly, thrust his head into the dancing fire, and cried, "Riddle Manor House, Little Hangleton!"

His head began to spin like a top, though his knees remained firmly planted upon the floor. He kept his eyes screwed up against the whirling ash, and when the spinning stopped, he opened them to find himself looking out upon a dark room. After a moment, the shadows in the room began to move and a strange, high pitched voice rang out, "Speak."

"Yes, my Lord." Barty licked his lips in a state of nervousness and terrible excitement; it was always such a rush to have a private audience with the most powerful dark wizard of all time. "Bertha's information was correct, the tournament will officially start tomorrow evening with the selection of the three champions. The old fool is using the Goblet of Fire – it's an amazing wooden…"

"Yes I know!"

"Sorry, my Lord."

"What color were the flames?"

"What?"

"The flames from the cup, what color were they?"

"Blue-white, my Lord."

Barty watched as the dark shadow shrank back into the dark room and swept back and forth, as if in deep concentration. After what seemed like ages, the shadow approached Barty's floating head once more.

"You will confound and bewitch the Goblet, tricking it into accepting a fourth school, and submit the boy's name under the auspices of that institution."

"But my Lord, how can I confound an object?"

"You doubt my advice, doubt the one true Lord?!"

"Never my Lord, I'm sorry…"

The dark shadow flashed an angry red, causing Barty to shrink back within the grate. But when the cold voice spoke again, it carried no threat or menace.

"You've shown me true loyalty lo' these many years, never wavering in your faith of the dark – do not start to doubt Lord Voldemort now."

"Never, my Lord."

"Good, now listen close. You can confound more than just people, you can confuse any magical object that has some level of sentience. Cast the Confundus charm, pour the volcanic dust I gave you into the Goblet and submit the boy's name under a new school. And my plan will finally be put into motion."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I'm proud of you Barty. I asked you if you were ready to risk everything for me and you answered with a resounding yes. Go now and do what I ask, fulfill your true destiny. Secure Potter a place in the tournament, lead him to me and help me rise once again, and I promise that you will receive riches beyond measure, you will be rewarded above all others."

* * *

Moody limped into the entrance hall of Hogwarts at a very late hour, shaking the night dew from his hair. The hall was as still as a church mouse and Moody's magical detected no movement, not even from the ever present house-elves. The goblet lay in the center of the entrance hall, sitting majestically on a three-legged stool, protected by a thin gold line.

Severus Snape sat on a set of stairs beyond the Goblet, perched like an overgrown bat. The potions master was leaning against a stone bannister, soundly sleeping. Moody watched the sleeping man for a few moments, his blood boiling with each passing second. Filthy coward, renouncing the Dark Lord and slithering away when his help was needed most. Him, and all the other unworthy scum, would soon get their comeuppance – they would all be punished soon enough!

Moody then turned his attention to the Goblet, staring at the wooden cup like a hungry wolf, gripping a small piece of parchment in his hand. He kept repeating the Dark Lord's instructions in his mind – _confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name, confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name, confound the goblet, throw in the dust, submit the name…_

"I see the covetous look in your eyes, I know what you're thinking."

The gentle voice terrified Moody as much as the Dark Lord's; he froze in a total panic. Moody's blue eye whizzed into the back of his head and he saw Dumbledore standing behind him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I know what it is you seek and what you would do."

Moody squeezed his left hand tighter around the parchment and slowly began to move his right hand toward the wand tucked in his belt. My god, the old fool knows! The Dark Lord will be furious! Was I followed tonight? Moody grasped his wand and slowly pulled it from his belt. Maybe I can salvage the situation, maybe I can kill the old fool…

"I must ask you to trust me Alastor."

What? Moody froze, unsure whether to attack or turn around.

"Severus is not our enemy – he renounced the dark path a long time ago. I ask that you trust me, as I trust him."

Moody turned around, quickly slipping his wand up his sleeve.

"People don't change Albus, evil never leaves once it has taken hold of someone. There's a reason I survived the war, when so many others did not."

"Severus is mine Alastor. We spoke at length about this very topic in the summer and you assured me you would give him a wide berth. Have you changed your mind already, are we going to have a problem this year?"

"No Albus, you'll have no quarrel with me – I'll leave you pet Death Eater alone. But if I catch him doing anything untoward this year, I won't hesitate to act."

"I'm sure you won't," said Dumbledore as he turned to look at the sleeping Slytherin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wake Severus and then get to bed. Goodnight Alastor."

"Yes, very well. Goodnight Headmaster. I think I'll keep watch a little longer, just in case."

"Constant vigilance!" Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he walked across the hall to Snape and roused him awake. Moody watched the pair talk for a few moments and then head up the stairs together.

Only when he was sure they were gone, Moody let out a long sigh and wiped his brow. He stowed away his wand and looked down at the piece of parchment in his hand – in sloppy, scrawled handwriting was written a name.

It was the name of a boy who had led a much harder life than he ought to have in his short fourteen years on Earth.

It was the name of a boy who embodied what it meant to be a true Gryffindor, through and through.

It was the name of a boy who had unwittingly saved the entire world from a dark future.

It was the name of a boy who had survived the most powerful killing curse known to wizards.

It was the name of a boy who would help Lord Voldemort rise again, more powerful and terrible than ever before.

_Harry Potter._


	37. Better the Devil You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange happenings at Hogwarts continue to frustrate Snape.

**Chapter 37**

**Better the Devil You Know**

_"Harry Potter."_

Severus Snape stared up at the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore with uncomprehending eyes, mouth agape in shock. Many others in the Great Hall had similar befuddled expressions splashed across their faces, for no one could quite believe the Goblet of Fire had just spat out a fourth Champion's name. There was no wild applause, glowing adulation or hearty shouts of encouragement as there had been when the other three Champions has been announced; instead, an angry buzzing began to grow within the Hall; students were standing up on their respective benches, craning their necks to get a better look at Harry as the young boy sat frozen in his seat.

Snape slowly peeled his eyes away from Dumbledore and joined the rest of the Hall in staring directly at Harry Potter – how small the boy looked with his shoulders slouched over, as Harry tried to round himself into a ball and disappear into the ground. Finally, Harry got a slight push from one of his friends and stumbled nervously to his feet. The young Gryffindor kept his eyes glued to the floor as he slowly trudged up to the front of the Hall, received curt instructions from Dumbledore and then headed off to a smaller room located past the end of the staff table, where the other Champions were patiently waiting.

Ludo Bagman was out of his seat like a shot and headed quickly after Harry, while the rest of the Head Table seemed to be in a state of petrification – no one seemed able to quite comprehend what had just happened. Dumbledore finally gave a quick shake of his head and headed off, followed immediately by Bartemius Crouch, Igor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape.

Snape quietly closed the door to the small alcove, cutting off the angry shouts that had started to emanate from the Hall, and hung back in the shadows of the room, trying to get control of his swirling emotions. Heated arguments had begun to erupt from all sides of the room – Dumbledore was main focus of the animosity, being accused of trickery and deception by the foreign delegates.

This Potter was unbelievable, such an impetuous attitude, just like his scumbag father – does the boy's arrogance know no bounds?! This unhealthy obsession with garnering undue attention has reached new heights! And forget flouting Hogwarts' rules, he was now disregarding international magical sanctions by entering his name into the Goblet! He's going to get himself hurt, or even killed, chasing fleeting fame and glory! He'll ruin all I've sworn to protect! And how in seven hells did he manage to become named a Champion?

_"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here —"_

_"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair._

Always taking the boy's side in every situation, no matter the facts! He's become too close to the boy, become too attached and involved – the Headmaster can no longer separate emotion from reason where Harry is concerned!

The argument raged on between all the assembled parties – anger and frustration plainly evident on the faces of the foreign emissaries, quiet confusion coming from Bagman and Crouch, and concern for Harry carried in the strained words of McGonagall.

One of these people must be the culprit for this madness, I'm sure of it…a cold finger crawled up Snape's spine – he turned and spied Moody slowing closing the door behind him.

Snape closed his eyes and tried to let the swirling emotions in the room settle over him, he could sense deception in the room. He only heard bits and pieces of the arguments that followed as he intensely focused on everyone.

Karkaroff and Maxime continued to protest and suggest that Dumbledore had hoodwinked everyone to double Hogwarts' chances at winning – their anger and frustration appeared genuine.

Bagman bounced nervously from toe to toe, attempting to calm everyone down while also trying to contain his excitement at such a spectacular twist of fate – the buffoon could not comprehend the peril Harry was now in. Snape noticed there was something wrong with Crouch – the man clearly was not feeling well.

Moody forcefully pushed the theory that someone was trying to get Harry killed and strongly insinuated the perpetrator was Karkaroff, and all the while his blue eye kept darting towards Crouch – Snape couldn't being to understand the emotions coming forth from that crazy, paranoid maniac.

Dumbledore eventually had the last word, deeming the tournament must go on due to the binding magic performed by the Goblet – Snape could only sense a pervasive gloom about the Headmaster, a persistent emotion that had been a constant companion as of late.

Snape tried to make eye contact, but none in the room would keep eye contact for more than a few, fleeting seconds. Something was not right, there was a strange hungry excitement floating in the air, along with the expected emotions of anger and confusion. Snape tasted dark magic in the room, but couldn't place the source. He debated voicing his concerns to the room, but eventually decided to hold his tongue.

After Crouch doled out instructions to the Champions, most of the aggrieved parties left, leaving Snape in the room with Dumbledore, Moody, McGonagall and Bagman.

Dumbledore turned to Bagman, "Ludo could you give me and my staff a moment? I'll meet you up in my office for a quick nightcap."

"Right-o old fellow! And once again, I'd like to thank you and your staff for being so accommodating. This new twist will definitely shake things up! I must send off an owl to the Prophet at once!"

Bagman bounced out of the room, happy as a lark.

"Severus, Alastor, did you see anything unusual near the Goblet last night?" Dumbledore asked in earnest.

"I didn't notice a thing Headmaster," Snape replied.

"That's cause you bloody well fell asleep when you should've been keeping watch!" Moody bellowed.

"It's irrelevant," intervened McGonagall. "No one but a powerful wizard could have crossed the Age Line and fooled the Goblet. Such a wizard surely would've taken great pains to conceal himself thoroughly from any prying eyes."

"He wouldn't have escaped detection on my watch!"

"That's quite enough Alastor!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "My Age Line only prevented youngsters from crossing – anyone over the age of 17 could have freely passed across…but tricking the Goblet is another matter entirely. I fear that Alastor's theory makes quite a bit of sense and, if we assume it to be true, the ramifications are troubling…quite troubling indeed."

"You think someone confounded the Goblet in order to put Harry in harm's way?" asked McGonagall.

"Confusing the Goblet into how many schools were entered and then submitted the boy's name as the only entrant under a fourth school, that's exactly what I would've done," said Moody. He gave a nasty grimace and turned to glare at Snap, pointing towards the potions master with an exaggerated wave.

"You think I submitted the boy's name? You jumped up, crackpot–"

"That's quite enough Severus, no one in this room is under any suspicion whatsoever – you all have my complete faith and trust."

Both Moody and Snape gave snorts of disbelief, but remained silent. McGonagall opened her mouth, but decided to keep quiet as well.

"Minerva, would you be so kind as to fetch Hagrid for me?" When McGonagall had left, Dumbledore turned to Moody, "Alastor I'll come see you when I've seen Ludo off."

"What're you going to speak with Snape about?"

Dumbledore did not answer, but instead continued to politely smile at the new DADA professor. After a minute, Moody gave a guttural snarl and limped out of the room.

Dumbledore turned to his sullen faced potions mater, still slinking in the shadows, "Could you pick up on anything? What did you sense in the room?"

"Anger, frustration, indignation, hate…"

"And?"

"I cannot say for sure, I couldn't make eye contact with anyone for long, too much anger swirling about the room, it felt like a smoldering powder keg in here."

"Stop dancing around it, say what you mean. Tell me Severus."

"I sensed a nervous excitement bouncing around the room, dark magic was in the air, I'm certain."

Dumbledore looked at Snape, weighing his words with a measured stare. He then soundlessly swept out of the room, leaving Snape alone with only his worries and doubts to keep him company.

* * *

I must have been an awful person, a terrible bully, or some kind of evil psychopath in a previous life. Maybe I killed an innocent and this life is penance?

All kinds of awful thoughts were running through Harry Potter's mind as he trudged down from the Gryffindor tower and headed towards the school dungeons. When he had learned of his magical blood and the related place he had earned at Hogwarts, it had been the happiest day of his young life. The poor treatment he had been subjected to as a child had been worth it – he would have the opportunity to become a powerful wizard and leave his adoptive family in the dust. But for all the wonder, happiness and feeling of belonging Hogwarts had initially given him, he now felt more alone than he ever had before. Thank god for Hermoine or I would've run away by now.

Harry turned a corner and heard a whizzing sound – he looked up and got smacked in the face by a small, round badge. His glasses clattered to the floor, along with the badge, as Harry stumbled backwards. He looked down, but could only see blurry, glowing green words flashing brightly upon a round metallic face. Harry raised his fingers to his forehead and could feel hot, sticky blood starting to seep from a small cut. He clumsily felt along the floor for his glasses, put them on and then stood up in a flash, his wand pointed forward – but the hallway was deserted.

I didn't ask to be Champion! What was Dumbledore playing at? If the tourny really was so dangerous, then why can't I just gracefully bow out? Why am I being forced to compete? Everyone is so stupid, thinking I submitted my name! How could I have tricked the Goblet? If anything, people should be mad at Dumbledore…or the Ministry, for allowing this to happen to me!

Harry bit down the urge to cry and soldiered ahead, vowing to rip the head off of whoever put his name in that godforsaken Goblet.

Five stories below Harry, Severus Snape sat behind an ugly maple-wood desk. The desk had been commissioned for a famous potioner almost a hundred years ago and had been a magnificent piece of work back then, but now it was chipped and nicked all over, injuries sustained over the years by the many potions students that studied in the dungeon. Wooden snakes were ornately carved along its four sturdy legs and a green gilded paint covered its writing surface.

"Ow!"

Snape looked up from the syllabus resting in his lap and narrowed his eyes at the clumsy red head sitting behind one of the many desks in the dungeon classroom. Ronald Weasley was sucking on his right index finger, a thin metal knife in his left sported a little bit of blood at its sharp tip. The inept oaf was managing to bungle even the simplest of tasks – Snape felt as though he was the one suffering an unjust detention, being forced to supervise such an incompetent buffoon. And people believed being of pure blood made one an amazing wizard, Weasley was doing everything in his power to dispel that notion.

Snape's thoughts drifted from Ron to the boy's friend, Hermoine Granger. The truth was she was the one playing on the potions master's mind this evening, not the clumsy red clown. Snape had strived to follow Dumbledore's advice, was trying to control his emotions and teach with a heavy, but even hand – but the caustic insult had sprouted from his lips as naturally as breathing. Last he heard the child was still in the hospital wing with unnaturally large teeth.

Why do these students bring out the worst in me? Pathetic, I can't even control my emotions around insignificant children…what will happen when I must master my emotions in front of…

The door to the dungeon slid open with a bang and in trounced the bespectacled prince of Hogwarts, with a scowl and a large bruise ripening on his forehead. Thoughts of Granger, steadying his conscience, and controlling his emotions melted away at the sight of Potter – Snape only saw the snide and arrogant face of James Potter and felt his insides freeze over.

Snape swept up from his desk like an angry bat and descended on Harry like an angry black cloud.

"Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence."

"I came right away, but…"

"But what," Snape barked as his eyes flicked to the angry welt on Harry's forehead. "Forgot how to walk? Bumped your head while rushing to your next interview and autograph session with your legions of fans? Take a seat next to the red headed dullard and watch me closely. I won't explain again what I want from you over the next two hours."

Snape walked quickly over to the desk next to Ron's and started his demonstration of pickling rats' brains without any preamble. He reached into a metallic canister and pulled out a limp rat – the wretched creature was alive but completely sedated. Snape picked up a silver fillet knife sitting on a desk and deftly twirled it in his long pale fingers.

"Please watch closely, as this is the most human way to remove the brain," Snape instructed as he slid the knife gently into the base of the rat's neck and twisted, eliciting a sickening crunch. Snape then slid the knife up around the rat's skull, creating a warped equator around the creature's head. He then gradually peeled apart the rodent's skull and gently removed the tiny brain, quickly dropping the grey matter into a jar of pickling solution and sealing it tight.

Harry was pink in the face after the demonstration, fighting back the strong urge to gag and retch all over the floor. Snape gave him a cold stare, "Follow my instructions explicitly and we shall have no problems. If you've done it correctly, the brains should maintain their faint pink hue. If you are careless, the brains will curdle and turn all manner of colors." Snape then gestured to Ron's desk, which was covered in blood and manhandled, multi-colored brains, "In that case, the brains will be useless to me and your detention will be extended."

"Why can't we just use our wands…sir?"

"Because I'm the potions master for Hogwarts and you're a snot nosed attention seeking punk, any other questions? No? Good."

Snape noticed how the normally inseparable friends were not making eye contact with each other and opened his mouth to fire off another insult, but decided instead to head back to his desk with an irritated sigh. He plopped down into a leather backed chair and propped his feet up onto the old desk, a sheaf of papers nestled on his lap.

Snape dropped his eyes back to his syllabus, but soon set it aside and began to read the day's copy of the Daily Prophet. The front page of the most widely circulated wizarding newspaper in Britain held a large vivid picture of Harry flying around the Hogwarts' campus, with a roaring headline proclaiming him the youngest champion in history. Madness! Does no one realize the insanity of having a child compete? Have people forgotten the students who had perished in prior tournaments?

Snape scanned the article, his pulse rising with each word. When he was finished, he had worked himself into an angry lather, but he wasn't sure if he was mad at Harry, Dumbledore or Rita Skeeter. Snape snuck a sideways glance at Harry, disgusted with himself so never being able to control his emotions around the boy.

Harry's face was frowned in concentration as he struggled to carefully drop a stringy brain into a jar – gristle and blood and sinewy membrane caked his hands and the front of his robes.

The headstrong fool cannot even properly butcher a rat, yet I actually entertained the idea that the child himself had been able to hoodwink the Goblet?! No, it wasn't Harry but who? Why this elaborate plan goddamnit? The whole charade seemed so unnecessary!

Why tangle with Dumbledore's line and enter the boy, why risk detection when the Goblet was being closely watched? Why this convoluted farce if someone had been able to penetrate the Hogwarts' defenses, why not just attack the boy?

Snape thoughts carried him from the dungeon and out to the Forbidden Forest, where the fearsome dragons waiting for the child and his young competitors. The ancient flying lizards of forgotten lore, even muggles knew about dragons for Snape remembered reading about them in a muggle book when he was a child. They were dangerous and unpredictable beasts, soaring stallions that could never truly be broken and bent to the will of man or wizard, but Dumbledore had been supremely confident no harm would befall any of the champions. But what if one of the beasts got loose, broke free from its magical shackles and set its frustrations and anger loose upon the crowd? Even the great Dumbledore could not overpower a fully grown dragon. Madness!

Snape had glimpsed the dragons a few times deep within the Forbidden Forest, roaring and struggling within their holding pen, the school's worst kept secret he thought as he snorted in derision. He had not seen anyone else skulking around that night – but there was no doubt in his mind that the other champions would all know well beforehand the obstacle that faced them for the first task. Both Igor and Maxine were not known for their penchant for following the rules, and that boy Cedric was no fool, he would discover the secret as well if he had any sense at all.

Snape stood and began circling the boys like a hungry shark, inspecting their work with keen eyes and unspoken threats. Snape's dark eyes flicked over Harry – the boy would never believe it coming from me – he would be wary, expecting some type of trick. Maybe an anonymous note? No, the child would have to see the beasts with his own eyes to truly believe, to fully understand the danger that awaited him.

"Weasley, if you crush and destroy another speck of brains, I swear I'll make you eat it!"

Ron's already red faced turned an even darker shade of crimson, and he bent even lower to the desk in concentration. Snape continued to slowly float around the dungeon classroom, turning the problem over in his mind. Of course Dumbledore has bristled at his suggestion to tell Harry, sprouted on and on about honor and maintaining the integrity of the tournament. It was if he was blind as to how the real world operated. The only thing integrity and honesty got you in a city of thieves and steals was stone cold dead.

Maybe I could give this red headed buffoon another detention tomorrow night, and then mention the dragons in an offhand way. These two are thick as thieves, as soon as the detention was over, he'd scamper back to the Gryffindor common room and tell Harry. It could work…

Snape winced as he watched Ron clumsily slice through another rat and shred the valuable organs contained within. No, the red head is a complete ignoramus – living, breathing proof of the folly that was the concept of pure blood superiority. I'll have to mention it in front of the smart one, Granger. She would be clever enough to realize the importance of my words. Was she out of the hospital wing by now? I wonder…

The half-breed oaf knew all about the flying lizards, he would not stop yammering on and on about them during dinner. I could plant the idea in his pea sized brain, mention how important it was that Harry knew about, that it would be of paramount importance…the half-giant would be so easy to twist…

* * *

Severus Snape strode quietly through the Forbidden Forest, the crisp autumn air refreshing on his pale face and greasy hair. He loved this time of year, when it was just cold enough to don a light traveling cloak, yet warm enough to not send one scurrying for an indoor hearth.

Sunlight poked through the tree tops, dappling his black traveling cloak and giving him a gentle finger of warmth. The green of the forest was turning gold and russet, turning the forest into a kaleidoscope of colors, and leaves crunched underneath his foot, giving satisfying crunches that echoed throughout the forest.

Despite his stoic demeanor, Snape's gut was a mass of tightly coiled worms that made him nauseous, as they all scrambled to untangle themselves deep within him. He had a trickle of sweat on his brow despite the fall chill and his palms were clammy to the touch. He hated himself for the doubt and worry that tugged at him – is this how a father feels when his son is about to compete in a big game?

Snape could hear the screams and yells floating in the air and getting louder, could see a large elongated shadow covering the forest ground ahead of him. Snape stepped through a thick copse of trees and out into a clear meadow – in front of him stood a towering grand stand shaped in a semi-circle and facing a large open field. Rocks, small trees and dirt trenches lined the field and in the center was a small, sunken pit and a cluster of large dragon eggs. Across the field and opposite the stands stood a large pavilion tent made of white canvas and lacquered leather.

Dumbledore and a few Ministry of Magic employees had magicked the grand stand to the meadow a few hours earlier. The stands were packed to the brim with students, dignitaries, and magic folk of all ilk – there was a nervous excitement in the air, as there always is before a large spectacle that promised wild entertainment, with a hint of violence.

The stands were decked out in vibrant and splendid colors, banners hung everywhere supporting the four school champions – there was a massive silk badger prowling the stands and billowing in the wind, striped in canary yellow and jet black; large fireworks were twirling high into the sky and exploding into bright lions with scarlet manes and golden fur; a few students from the Durmstrang contingent were manipulating a massive kite over the stands, in the shape of the school's famous golden double-headed eagle; the Beauxbatons supporters was sending golden wands high into the sky, which then shimmered and dissolved into star bursts of yellow and gold flames.

Beverage and food vendors strolled up and down the aisles, hawking their treats amongst the raucous crowd – butter beer, chocolate frogs and other Honeyduke delights were flying back and forth in haphazard tosses. Hogwarts' teachers and Ministry officials prowled the stands with scowls, trying to maintain some semblance of order and control. Snape should have been among them helping to keep the audience safe, but he was in no mood to play policeman to this crowd of fools.

Snape spied the white marble row of seats in the center of the stands – the distinguished seats of the Triwizard judges. This whole spectacle was a motley circus and there sat the smug ringleaders…who was more ignorant? The excited crowd who wanted to watch children tempt fate against fire breathers, or the judges who orchestrated this spectacle and are allowing it to happen? Someone wanted Harry in this dangerous tournament, someone wanted…

Snape's thoughts came to a screeching halt, as a brilliant blue flame cut through the field like a powerful laser. The crowd fell silent for a stunned second and then erupted as one in a ferocious roar as a large dragon was being led onto the field. The dragon was thirty feet tall with bluish silver scales that shone like gilded armor in the sunlight. It walked upright on two powerful hind legs, for its front legs were small and stubby. Razor sharp talons lined its claws and when it roared one could see row after row of serrated teeth. Its eyes were sunken pits of bright blue, with small dark pupils that shone of power and hate.

The dragon was being led to the sunken pit in the center of the field by a group of wizards, each one holding long metal chains that were attached to various parts of the dragon. The wizards were tugging and pulling the stubborn dragon along, inching their way slowly across the field. The longest chain was attached to a large ribbed metal collar wrapped around the dragon's scaly neck and was pulled by a fierce looking wizard. He was short and stocky, with muscled arms and a freckled face. His fingers were callused and blistered and fire red hair stood atop his square head.

The dragon continued to twist and pull away from the wizards, until it finally got a glimpse of the eggs nestled low in the sunken pit. Once it spied those treasures, it opened its maw wide, gave a piercing shriek and stumbled towards the pit. The wizards had to dive out of the way as the dragon came roaring at them, and soon only the red headed wizard was left holding on as the dragon closed in on the precious eggs. The crowd roared in delight as the dragon settled over the eggs, its massive wings spreading over its body to cover them.

The wings appeared to be made of a thin stringy membrane, much lighter and less armored than the scales that covered the rest of the dragon's body. Snape knew that despite its stretchy appearance, the skin that lined wings was stronger than steel and a much coveted substance throughout the wizarding world.

The red headed wizard finally relinquished his hold on the metal chain and scampered away to his colleagues. He then turned and brandished his wand at the dragon, magicking away the metal chains wrapped around it. Released of its manacles, the dragon raised its head to the sky and let loose a long stream of blue flames that kissed the sky – the flames reached the golden double-headed eagle kite floating in the sky and turned it to ash, much to the screaming delight of the watching crowd.

Snape did not envy the champion that was picked to face the Swedish Short-Snout dragon, for this one seemed completely wild and uncontrollable. He gave one last sweeping look to the rowdy crowd and headed back into the forest, he was done for the day and had no interest in watching mere children compete with dragons.

For a fleeting second a perverse idea popped into his head and Snape wished that grievous harm or even death fell upon one of the champions or to someone in the watching crowd. That would show them, prove my point of how dangerous and unnecessary this whole spectacle was!

A few yards into the forest, Snape heard Dumbledore's magnified voice and then the thunder of the crowd as Cedric Diggory's name was announced – the Hogwarts' prefect was in for quite a battle. The sounds of the crowd and the roar of the dragon slowly faded as he pushed further into the forest and headed back towards the school castle.

After some time the trees began to thin out and he thought he could see the outline of Hagrid's hut through the leaves when his foot caught in a tree root and he fell to the ground, scratching his hands as they slammed into the ground. When Snape looked back, there was no tree root staring at him, only the disfigured smile of Alastor Moody.

"Watch your step Snape," the former Auror growled. "The forest is dark and full of terrors."

"What're you doing here?" Snape barked as he got to his feet. "Following me during the day now?"

"I like to keep a close watch on dark wizards, especially ones that slipped away from me during the war. There's a dark empty cell waiting for you across the sea."

Snape tried to control the heat rising to his face and flicked his eyes all around him, trying to ferret out any other traps. He slowly slipped his wand from his sleeve into his hand, and took a closer look at Moody. The man was a walking billboard to the horrors of war – long healed scars lined his weathered face, his mouth permanently twisted in an awful rictus of a smile.

"I will not stand for this constant abuse any longer…"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's hand spasmed in pain as his wand shot out from his hand and sailed away into the forest underbrush.

"Assaulting a teacher on school grounds?! You've gone too far this time Mad-Eye! You presume too…"

Moody flicked his wand and Snape's mouth filled with pink soap bubbles, simultaneously gagging him and transporting him back to the torments of his teenage years in one fell swoop. How could he know?!

Snape fell to his knees and reached into his mouth to scoop out the bubbles, but they continued to multiply in a soapy mess. He fell to the ground and reached his hand out towards his fallen wand, but it never came flying to his rescue.

The foamy discharge in his mouth began to choke him and his lungs soon screamed for relief, he soon he became light headed as yellow stars popping brightly at the corners of his vision. Just when he thought he would suffocate, the bubbles vanished and he greedily gulped in the precious autumn air. His chest heaved up and down as he rolled onto his back in a coughing fit, fighting to push out the soapy remnants stuck in his throat.

Snape finally regained his control of his body and stared up at the sunlight peeking through the forest top. A dark shadow crept over him and soon he was gazing up at an ugly scarred face that appeared to be made of worn wood rather than human skin. Moody's beady black eye gazed down upon him as his vivid blue one swirled excitedly around in circles.

"I presume what?"

Snape felt the anger and heat rise to his face, but just as quickly it began to recede back into the far recesses of his mind. He felt himself shutting down and going blank, aware of the vulnerable position he was in and not wanting to provoke the angry bear standing over him.

"I'll have your job for this. By next week you'll be back in your grimy house, battling trashcans and long forgotten memories."

Moody lifted his wooden leg and stepped brusquely onto Snape's chest. "Is that so?" Moody pressed down hard onto the potions master's chest. "You think you can run me out of here? Gonna run along to Dumbledore and admit I got the drop on you, admit how scared I make you?"

Moody smiled, a queer lopsided smirk that could have curled milk. He pressed his wooden club foot down even harder on Snape's chest, but the pale face continued to stare at him with no trace of emotion. Moody swung his foot off Snape and bent low, his ugly face grinning twistedly. Snape could taste the bitterness in the old Auror's breath, but did not flinch away.

"Do you know which wizards I hate the most Snake? Which ones I hate more than the wizards who killed my friends, more than the wizards who tried to kill me?"

Moody leaned in even closer, his mouth inches from Snape's ear, his blue whizzing eye spinning so fast it became a bluish blur.

"I hate the ones who turned traitor, the weak turncoats, the wizards who deserted their brothers and sisters when they were needed most. The dark wizards rotting in Azkaban? I have no quarrel with them, foolish as they were to stay stuck in there. At least they owned up to what they are, accepted their fate without compromise. I can respect that. But the ones that slipped away, the ones that turned tail and jumped ship…"

Moody was shaking now, crazy wrath on his face, slaver dripping from his slanted mouth. "They're the ones that keep me up night. And they're the ones that should be the most afraid…not from me, but from the coming storm of retribution."

Snape turned his to face his grotesque colleague, his locked down emotions beginning to stir within the hatches he had buried them under. "What did you say?"

"Be afraid Severus, be very afraid. He's coming, I can feel it."

"Who?"

"The Dark Lord."

Snape screamed out in fright and rolled to his side, clutching his left forearm. It burned, I swear it, my mark burned! He rolled up his cloak and stared at his forearm – upon pale white skin sat a very faded black tattoo, looking harmless as ever. Snape rubbed at the mark, but it was no clearer than a thin film of misty dew on his skin.

Snape rolled to his feet, pointing an accusing finger, "How the f–"

Snape never finished his accusation, his sharp biting scream meekly dying in his throat.

Moody had disappeared without a sound, leaving Snape alone with the brisk autumn air, falling tree leaves dappled with sunlight and a knot of fear coiled around his heart.


	38. The Yule Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Ball.

**Chapter 38**

**The Yule Ball**

The Slytherin common room was large and cut deep underground, with rough stone walls and a low hanging ceiling. Large round, greenish lamps hung from the pointed ceiling from interlocking silver metal chains. Red and orange torches flickered from wall sconces, warming the cold stone room and throwing shadowy light into even the darkest corners. There were oval windows scattered around one wall, with green and silver stained panes. Through the windows one could see the vastness of the Great Lake and every so often a large shadow would pass over the windows, hinting at the aquatic beasts that resided in the watery depths.

In one corner stood an elaborately carved mantelpiece, housing a roaring fire that never seemed to flame out. It was made from green and obsidian marble, with silver snakes decorating its walls. Handsome oil paintings hung on the walls, looking down on onyx statues and golden busts of famous House alumni. Expensive leather backed chairs and sofas dotted the room, splendid in varying shades of green and silver. A large silken Persian rug covered the cold stone floor, a great serpent bearing its fangs in the woven threads.

Students were lounging about the common room – another lazy Saturday afternoon at Hogwarts. Near the roaring fireplace sat a group of chatting students, Draco Malfoy in the center as usual, preening and gleaming – the handsome boy’s confidence was almost palpable. His snow white skin shone even within the shadowy interior of the common room, his straw blond hair had nary a strand out of place.

A comely girl with long, straight, raven black hair sat beside him, her right leg resting over his lap and her fawning eyes drinking in his face. Crabbe and Goyle sat off to his right, permanent bodyguards who much preferred the role of lackey to leader. The group of four, along with several other students, were listening to Blaise Zabini recount another one of his late night conquests when Severus Snape swept into the room, a shadowy whisper that silenced the chattering room.

Slytherins were known throughout the castle for haughty confidence bordering on downright arrogance, often denying to give the Hogwarts’ professors their due respect, but when alone in their common room with their own House Head, they never once forgot their manners. Snape demanded respect from his charges and got it – they were afraid of him like most of the other students from the other three Houses, but there was also a deep seated respect for him that the Slytherins never quite developed for any of the other school professors, or for the Headmaster.

Almost at once the chattering stopped and a few students even stood in deference – or was it apprehension – as Snape breezed across the large green and silver carpet. He barely made a sound as he made his way over to the fireplace and turned to face the room, a small sneer forming on his lips.

“Gather ‘round, I’ve some announcement to make.”

As the students began to form a semi-circle around their House Head, Snape casually snapped his wrist and flicked his wand at the floor. A wisp of grey smoke shot forth from the tip and collected on the floor in a swirling mist; after a moment, wispy grey snakes shot forth from the mist and slithered away, leaving small grey puffs in their wake. They swept along the silk carpet and headed off in search of any missing students.

Snape stood still as a statue and his waiting students did the same, the only sounds in the common room were the cackles echoing from the fireplace as the hot fire burned bright on top of darkened logs. Over the next few minutes the rest of the Slytherin house trickled into the common room; many had unfocused eyes, sleep shone from their eyes; a few older students wandered in smelling of fire whiskey; the last two students to enter were a tall blonde boy and a giggling red-headed girl, her lipstick smeared across his neck. Snape gazed at his silver and green charges, sullen disappointment mingled with a certain pride in his dark eyes.

“Now that we are all here,” Snape’s eyes lingered a moment on the smug looking tall blonde boy, “I can begin. As stated last month, there is to be a Slytherin House feast next Thursday in the Great Hall. The guest speaker and visiting chef is a personal friend of mine, so I expect all of you to be on time and properly behaved. Please come prepared with questions for Chef Patel –and if there is any nonsense at all, I’ll give you to Hagrid for the rest of year and you can spend your weekends cleaning up after this creatures. Any questions?”

A small, mousy boy in worn green robes slowly raised his hand and Snape turned to stare at him with a sneer. After a few seconds, the boy slowly lowered his hand to a chorus of snickers and Snape continued.

“As you’re all aware, this year’s Quidditch season has been cancelled due to the Triwizard Tournament.”

Small groans sounded from the surrounding crowd.

“Yes, I know how disappointed some of you are, but I’ve got some good news on that front. Draco’s father has generously offered to rent a pitch on the outskirts of Hogsmeade during the next school field trip to Hogsmeade and –”

A roar went up and there were a few shouts of “Well done!” and “Draco!”

“Quiet now. Quiet, I said! Mr. Malfoy, who’s on the school board of Governors, as well as a close personal friend of mine, will be taking care of every expense. On top of that, I’ve personally vouched for your good behavior to the Headmaster in order to allow this to happen. If anything, and I mean anything, untoward occurs or if there is even one complaint from a single village resident, I promise you the guilty parties will suffer a very heavy price.”

Snape’s menacing look wiped the smiles of most of the students’ faces, save for the pleased look that Draco always wore. A few of the students began to shuffle towards the back, wilting under the potions master’s hot gaze.

“I’ve one final thing to say. The Yule Ball is approaching – a traditional and time honored festivity of the Triwizard Tournament and a prime opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open to fourth years and above – although older students may invite younger students if they so wish –”

Most of the younger girls in the group stared pointedly at the floor, while a few bold ones made eyes at some of the older boys. Quite a few of the older girls stole quick looks towards Draco and Blaise. Soft giggling began to spread amongst the students; Snape wore an irritated look and plowed on.

“Dress robes must be worn,” Snape continued, “and the ball will start at eight o’clock sharp on Christmas Day, concluding around midnight. Mr. Filch has asked the House Heads to gather volunteers to help prepare the Great Hall for the dance.”

Snape stared deliberately around, but no one moved or voiced their help. “If anyone is interested, please see Mr. Filch by tomorrow and submit your name…don’t all volunteer at once,” he scoffed.

“The Yule Ball is, of course, a chance for us to have fun, but it’s also an opportunity to show support for Hogwarts and our Champion. Since the Goblet did not seem to think that anyone in Slytherin was _worthy_ ,” Snape said with a disapproving jeer, “we’ll have to throw our support behind Mr. Diggory. I expect all of you to show him the proper respect and adulation during the ball.”

A voice peeped out from towards the back of the room, “But Professor, what about the other school Champion – Potter?”

Snape’s head snapped towards the voice so fast his neck cracked. He stared pointedly at a thin stringy boy with wavy brown hair, along with a handful of other shocked faces from the crowd. After a few tense seconds, Snape’s glare turned into an icy smile.

“Slytherin shall be supporting the true Hogwarts Champion Mr. Nott. I believe it’s called the _Tri_ wizard Tournament, is it not?”

The tension in the air burst and common room rang with laughs and hoots. Snape stepped past his students and exited the common room to shouts of “Hail King Cedric!” and “Potter stinks!”

* * *

The winter chill breezing in the air was refreshing and invigorating on the skin, enough to get one's blood pumping and turn cheeks rosy red, but not cold enough to bite. Stars twinkled in the night sky like faraway diamonds nestled on a giant necklace. Gentle snowflakes floated down, coating the world and giving the night a whimsical feel that made one feel like anything was possible. A thin film of frost covered the school grounds, giving the entire campus a beautiful silver sheen – Hogwarts had never looked more spectacular, a true winter wonderland.

The Great Hall was a mirror image of the winter beauty, magicked to mimic the snowy kaleidoscope swirling outside. Happy voices, excited shouts and cheery laughter bubbled from within and floated up and through the open front doors to the rose the garden outside. Fluttering fairy lights winkled in the thorny bushes and light orange lanterns floated throughout the garden, dancing in time with the music playing inside. The garden was filled with frosted green bushes, winding ornamental paths and large stone statues. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches, some too close to each other to have been only talking.

Sitting on one of the farthermost wooden benches was a solitary man, bundled up thick in a black traveling cloak. His greasy black hair was dusted with snowy white flakes and his hooked nose shined in the floating orange lights. The cool night air had caused his normally sallow skin to take on a slight pinkish tinge, giving color to his brooding look.

Severus Snape closed his eyes and fingered the ice cold necklace lying across his neck. It was a thin chain made of pure silver, magically interwoven with ruby strands. But the ruby strands had faded many years ago, the magic dying out when the witch who created the enchantment was struck down. It felt cool on his skin, always reminding him of what was gone and never would be again. This is where I belong, alone and out in the cold while the rest of the world is inside enjoying the merriment and warmth.

The sounds of the Yule Ball were bitter notes to Snape's ears, cacophony that reminding him of the awkwardness of his youth. He thought back to a winter party held in the same Great Hall year ago, the wispy smile Lily had given him…that beautiful red smile, her lips…and how it had turned into a sad frown when Black and Potter had dropped a punch bowl on his head just as he was working up the courage to ask her to dance. He remembered the sticky fruit juice sluicing down his face, staining the only pair of dress robes he owned. The jeers and hoots, the laughing and howling faces of the students, the teachers who pretended not to notice, the taunting insults hurled his way, even from members of his own house.

Snape removed a small cask from his cloak and took a long pull, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. His breath frosted the moment it left his mouth and swirled away into the night. His countenance turned a darker shade of crimson as he remembered the indignity of that night…was it any wonder I turned away from everyone? What choice did I have? Dumbledore always preached forgiveness, selflessness, helping those who could not help themselves – but what did he know? Whoever helped me?

Snape was so engrossed in the injustices of his past that he was unaware of his visitor until a shadow fell right over top of him.

"Severus, a word?"

Snape looked up at the oily, unctuous voice – a tall reedy man stood before him with short white hair and a matching goatee. His dark eyes glinted under bushy eyebrows and a queer smile played upon his lips.

"I'm in no mood for games tonight."

"What games? I just want a moment of your precious time," Karkaroff replied in an innocent voice. The Durmstrang Headmaster took a long look around and then sat down next to Snape, his voicing turning as cold as the frost on the ground. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Snape looked at his former Death Eater solider with a churlish sneer, "I've been doing no such thing." And before Karkaroff could reply, Snape shot up from the bench and set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes. It was several yards before Karkaroff was able to catch abreast of him.

"Please, we must talk, form a plan of some sort. Things are turning more serious than ever."

"I _…don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."_

" _Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it —"_

" _Then flee," said Snape's voice curtly. "Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."_

_Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them._

" _Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!" Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. "And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!" as a boy went rushing after her. "And what are you two doing?" he added, catching sight of Harry and Ron on the path ahead. Karkaroff, Harry saw, looked slightly discomposed to see them standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger._

" _We're walking," Ron told Snape shortly. "Not against the law, is it?"_

" _Keep walking, then!" Snape snarled, and he brushed past them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Karkaroff hurried away after Snape…_

"How can you considering staying? His vengeance shall be terrible to behold, it will be absolute for former soldiers like us. We can last longer if we work as one, if we stick together …"

"You've got quite a bit of cheek, speaking to me like this. I heard you sold me out during the trials, yelled my name for even the heavens to hear!"

"We were all jumping ship and looking for life rafts. Rumors are that you turned on all of us even before the Dark Lord fell."

"Don't believe everything you hear, you of all people should know that."

"It was a long time ago Severus and we all did what we had to, to survive, to live, to escape the cold cells of Azkaban – and it has turned out well for us both. Come now, it was such a long time ago and we went through so much together."

"Exactly, we did all that and then some, yet you still sold me out."

"What was I to do Severus, not try to save myself? Send myself to that bloody island in your stead? What about you? Did you betray us during the war? Were you faithful to your true brothers? Did you step up during the trials and try to save me?"

Karkaroff looked at the Snape with beady eyes and a wary frown.

"We can ignore each other or we can let bygones be bygones."

"I'd prefer the former choice Igor." And with that refrain Snape stomped off through the falling snow, leaving his former brethren in stunned silence.

* * *

The night was winding down and only a few remained, not wanting the magical dance to end. _Snape and Dumbledore stood a little apart in the entrance hall, while the last stragglers from the Yule Ball passed them on their way to bed._

" _Well?" murmured Dumbledore._

" _Karkaroff's Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution; you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell." Snape looked sideways at Dumbledore's crooked-nosed profile. "Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns."_

" _Does he?" said Dumbledore softly, as Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies came giggling in from the grounds. "And are you tempted to join him?"_

" _No," said Snape, his black eyes on Fleur's and Roger's retreating figures. "I am not such a coward."_

" _No," agreed Dumbledore. "You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon. . . ."_

 _He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken. . ._ Snape felt a strong bubble expanding in his chest and a warmth rush to his eyes, but just as quickly the bubble burst and the wetness in the back of his eyes dried up. He left his post at the entrance hall and walked down the front steps of the castle, out into the night. The snow had begun to fall heavy and the magical winter chill seemed to have turned into a blustering rope. Some of the magicked orange lanterns had dimmed down to small burn, even more had burnt out and fallen down, fallen soldiers littering the rose garden.

Snape walked through the darkened garden, his boots turning cold and his cloak turning wet. He fell to his knees and picked up a fallen lantern, whispering soft words into it. The lantern shimmered and a small fire lighted within. Snape placed the flickering lantern back into the snow and rolled up the sleeve on his left forearm. His Dark Mark stared back at him, fearsome and angry.

The Mark had meant so much to him once, it had meant everything. It stood for the ultimate power and respect at one time, but it had also stood for family. A real family, a true family, people he could count on when the chips were down and his back was against the wall. Or so Severus Snape had once thought.

Snape stared hard at the Mark…and then the impossible happened. Something that had not happened in thirteen years. The snake moved.


	39. All Roads Lead to Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore floats in and out of the past.

**Chapter 39**

**All Roads Lead to Rome**

The world was a swirling mist, a changing landscape of grey and black. The colors gusted back and forth, windswept and swollen. When the fog lifted, Albus Dumbledore stood silently in Severus Snape's bedroom, nestled deep within the labyrinth of the Hogwarts' dungeons. The Headmaster looked around the drab sleeping quarters and a little shiver skated along his spine – the cramped room reminded him of a stone cell on a lonely island he had visited many moons ago.

There were no windows down in the dungeons and the bedroom was a deep black, the darkness was cloying. The walls were lined with neat stacks of texts and tomes, along with a variety of potions and rare ingredients. On a far wall hung a shiny set of silver blades – Dumbledore had a sneaking suspicion that Snape did always use them for cutting up ginger roots.

A sniffling sound drew Dumbledore's attention to his left – Snape lay in a narrow stone bed, wrapped up tight in a thick woven blanket. His skin glistened like ice and his lips were a slight shade of blue, his breath turned to mist as it left him and it was no wonder, the room was freezing. Dumbledore recalled reading in a Muggle book some years ago about seasonal affective disorder and he pondered whether or not to demand Snape start spending more time in the sun.

Suddenly, the office became aglow in a blinking green light, pulsing soundlessly throughout the room. Dumbledore looked up and down the confined space, but could not find the source of the flashing light. When he turned back around, Snape was standing right in front of him, inches from his face, their noses almost touching.

Snape wore a long grey nightshirt, rough spun wool with green silk threads embroidered on the sleeves. Dumbledore could see the puffs of his cold breath, the whiteness of his pale skin…a pallid ghost stood before, a Slytherin ghost, more skeletal than human, haunting the deep dark dungeons. I wonder when my potions master last had a proper meal.

Even though Snape was inches from Dumbledore's face, he looked right through the Headmaster – no acknowledgment or alarm registered at finding a stranger keeping a silent vigil over him while he slept. Snape looked around at the flashing green light and his face darkened into a deep scowl.

A loud banging sounded outside, a startling thud that echoed every few seconds…moments later the room was filled with a loud screeching wail. It sounded like garbled screech, loud clamoring in an alien tongue.

Snape sprinted right through Dumbledore as if the Headmaster were made of fumes and was into his adjoining private office in a flash. Dumbledore floated out of the bedroom, past the cluttered office and followed Snape into a dungeon corridor.

Snape flew through dark halls and past empty classrooms, headed resolutely towards wailing scream. Suddenly he skidded to a halt, clutching a stich in his side, his heavy panting drowned out by the incessant wailing. Dumbledore stood quietly as he watched Snape poke a finger to his dungeon office door, a puzzled look etched across his face as the door swung inward. The office torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar.

As Snape was about to enter his office, the wailing stopped abruptly and the silence was replaced by a loud yell, "PEEVES!" Snape slammed his office door shut and waved his wand behind his as he sprinted off again.

Dumbledore continued to float along and entered an open hall with a narrow staircase – he watched as Snape argued with Filch, watched as Moody appeared and berated them both, watched as Snape stalked off in an angry huff, his face purple with anger, with Filch quietly following him.

The corners of the hall started to blur, yet Dumbledore lingered, watching intently as Moody slowly turned over a golden egg in his gnarled hands. Dumbledore frowned as Moody began to ascend the empty staircase, his wooden peg making his gait an exaggerated limp, _clunk, clunk, clunk_.

The staircase began to dissolve in a whirling haze, yet Dumbledore remained as Moody slowly limped up the stairs, and just as the hall was consumed by swirling shadows, he heard Moody grumble "Potter" and a diffident voice reply from nowhere…

The shadows darkened and then melted away, leaving Dumbledore beneath the green cover of the Forbidden Forest, within a copse of oak trees overlooking the Great Lake. He looked around and realized uncomfortably that he'd never been in this part of the forest before – it's unsettling how much of the school campus I've yet to explore.

Snape stood next to him, his beady black eyes staring intently through the foliage. Dumbledore peered alongside him, through a gap in the trees – he spied the frothy surface the Great Lake, screaming crowds from a huge grandstand on a distant shore, fireworks exploding over the castle, bright blues mixed with gold and ruby red.

After a few moments, Harry Potter burst forth from the icy lake with two motionless shapes floating next to him. The boy must have been freezing, his clothes stuck to him as if they were part of skin and beads of ice cold water clung his skin like stubborn tiny snails. Dumbledore beamed a great big toothy smile, the kind of grin a man would bear when his son or grandson had done something worthy of remembrance.

"Looks like you were wrong old boy, Harry's more than capable of holding his own in these tasks, despite his youth and inexperience," Dumbledore blurted out, forgetting where he was. He turned to Snape with a knowing smirk, but the potions master did not turn to him.

Instead Snape pulled away from the trees and leaned down to a knee, terror and relief written on his face. He covered his eyes with a shaking hand and whispered a quiet prayer. When the potions master started to softly cry, Dumbledore decided he had lingered too long. He waved his arms and the copse of trees rippled gently and turned into wavy shadows, enclosing Dumbledore in a watercolor world of grey and black…

Dumbledore now found himself in a fourth year potions class, standing in a corner of a gloomy dungeon room, the air thick with hot steam from bubbling hot cauldrons. All of the students were bent over their sweltering potions, completely engrossed in their work, save for one student seated right in front of Snape's silver and green desk.

Harry's jaw was clenched and his face was turning all shades of red. The young Gryffindor was shooting daggers of hate towards the potions master, and had gone way past the point of necessity in angrily grinding his scarab beetles into a fine powder with a worn mortar and pestle.

Dumbledore walked towards the front of the room with his long green robes billowing about him, yet none of the students seemed to notice, even Snape and Harry seemed unawares as the tall figure approached and stopped right beside them. The tension between teacher and student was uncomfortably palpable, more saccharine the suffocating steam clouds floating around the classroom.

Snape's eyes flashed scarlet with anger and he plunged his hand inside his black robes with such speed that Dumbledore thought the professor might curse Harry right there and then. But a wand did not appear in Snape's hand when he removed it from his robes, instead, he held a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

_"Do you know what this is, Potter?" Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again._

_"No," said Harry, with complete honesty this time._

_"It is Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," said Snape viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips" — he shook the crystal bottle slightly — "right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter . . . then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not."_

Dumbledore bristled with indignation as he saw a trusted man of his threaten a student, yet queerly appreciated the unadulterated and honest glimpse into this private, guarded moment. He was about to waves his arms again, wanted to leave this disgusting interaction, when a knock on the dungeon door stayed his hands.

_"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice._

_The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated._

_"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist._

_"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him._

_"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."_

_"After the lesson," Snape snapped._

_Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry. Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class._

_"What's so urgent?" he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff._

_"This," said Karkaroff…_

Dumbledore swallowed down alarm as he saw the Dark Mark clearly etched on Karkaroff's inner forearm. The snake's face was gleaming, the fangs bared whole, a forked tongue flicking back forth, tasting the air…the classroom began to shake and thunder, the air began to shiver, and moments later Dumbledore found himself floating through the air and gently landing back onto the carpeted floor of his circular office.

Dumbledore looked up from his watery reflection in the Pensieve and turned to the pale skinny stick slouched in one of his office's plush arm chairs. Snape sagged low in the chair, with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed.

"Once again, I thank you for allowing me to be privy to your private memories, troubling as some of them were."

Snape made no motion to acknowledge the Headmaster.

"And I agree, it's as I've feared for the last thirteen years; Lord Vold–, sorry, the Dark Lord's return is soon at hand. We've much to discuss. Severus…are you listening to me?"

Snape began to softly snore, his head lolling to one side.

"I met with you as soon as I could Severus. I'd other matters to attend to, _important international matters._ I saw you as quickly as I possibly could." Dumbledore stared down his spectacles at Snape, disappointed and tired. He then glanced towards one of the portraits lining his office and gave its occupant a quick wink. "You're behaving like a child, it's no wonder Moody's able to walk all over you."

Snape's eyes snapped open, an angry snake who'd been poked with a sharp stick. "That rotten piece of driftwood does _not_ walk all over me, I follow your misguided instructions of turning the other cheek!" Snape stood up, quick as a cat. "And if you think –"

"Oh, so you were listening to me?"

"This isn't a game Dumbledore. Moody's running amok! Something rotten resides in the castle, you're being played for a fool! Winds of change are coming!"

"I know."

"Your continued favoritism towards Moody is disgusting, one of a million mistakes you're making! You've now witnessed for yourself his contemptuous behavior, his threats, his…his…"

"Calm yourself Severus, or you'll drop dead of heart attack."

"Like you care…"

"We both know I very much do, but Moody's here at my behest, he's doing me a personal favor; I can hardly throw him out now. He's…eccentric, yes, but still effective at what he does. And as you very well know, the DADA post is not exactly the most coveted position in the wizarding world right now…especially considering the fate of the last three who held the post."

"I will gladly take over the position."

"You're far too valuable to me to allow that."

"Moody's not the long term answer…there's something wrong with him."

Dumbledore turned away to gaze at the beautiful grandfather clock resting in the corner of his office. It was framed in Arabic gold and inlaid with shining diamonds. The numbers on its face were composed of emeralds, rubies and sapphires. It was ostentatious, unlike anything else in the office, yet he was loathe to part with it, a gift from a thankful wizard many years ago. It represented the precious gift of time, something Dumbledore knew was slipping away from him, something that even his powerful magic could not slow down.

"We're short on time and I've no interest in wasting another second on Professor Moody. Can you handle what he throws at you or do you really need me to get involved?"

Snape did not respond, instead, he slumped back down into the leather armchair and turned towards an open window with a petulant shake of his head.

"Now then, we must begin to plan for the Dark Lord's imminent return."

"How has he survived? How can he come back? How can I help you if I don't know everything?"

"All poignant questions, but the answers will be suited at another time Severus. Tonight, I wish to speak about Harry."

"He's reckless, and terribly sneaky as you've just seen. If that little runt had been honest with us from the beginning, we would've caught the Dark Lord when he was just a broken spirit, we would've found the Chamber much sooner than we did and we certainly would've caught Black and Pettigrew. Don't you realize this? He's headstrong, a loose cannon, and you're enabling him. The child has made everything much worse since you allowed him to come here!"

"He has goodness in him, true courage Severus. More than he has any right to have."

"You're overlooking all his shortcomings, glossing over his many faults."

"Faults like any other child. I could easily say you're overlooking all his redeeming qualities. What would you have me do? Lock him away in a room and never let him experience life? Force him into everlasting detentions? I believe you're doing a good enough job of that yourself."

"His arrogance will be his downfall – like father like son, the past is doomed to repeat itself. The boy never thinks, only acts. He has courage and valor, yes, but most of the dead men I've known had the same, the ones still breathing were much more…wise."

"The hat does not make mistakes, it felt daring and strength in the boy, loyalty above all else."

"Ah hah! Always playing favorites towards your damned house."

"What about his recent performance in the second task? You didn't find his actions commendable?"

Snape stared pointedly at Dumbledore, red embarrassment flushing his cheeks. "He was a fool, wasting precious time saving another, who I might had, was never in any real danger anyway. None of the other Champions strayed from the stated instructions."

"Don't you see why disobeying me and the other judges was admirable? Can't you see the loyalty and respect he has the potential to command from others? The inspiration he can be for the wizarding world? Do you now see the power in loving another, in caring for others?"

"I did love another!"

"Yes, I know, I've never forgotten. It's important to save the memory that is her son, but it's just as important for us to consider other innocents as well. You could learn something from Harry."

"Learn? From a mere child? It's insulting of how little you still think of me, of my abilities!" Snape rose from his chair and moved towards the door.

"Severus wait! There's still much to discuss!" But the only reply Dumbledore received was a slammed office door.

The man's an old fool, he's going to lead us all into disaster. Snape was lost in angry musing as he glided down the spiral staircase – he imagined painful and terrible retribution for Moody…dreamt of Dumbledore begging his forgiveness as he stood triumphant in a field of golden grass… _"POTTER!"_

_Harry skidded to a halt and looked around. Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him even as he beckoned Harry back toward him._

_"What are you doing here, Potter?"_

_"I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" said Harry, running back up the corridor and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape instead._

_"It's Mr. Crouch . . . he's just turned up . . . he's in the forest . . . he's asking —"_

_"What is this rubbish?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering. "What are you talking about?"_

_"Mr. Crouch!" Harry shouted. "From the Ministry! He's ill or something — he's in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give me the password up to —"_

_"The headmaster is busy, Potter," said Snape, his thin mouth curling into an unpleasant smile._

_"I've got to tell Dumbledore!" Harry yelled._

_"Didn't you hear me, Potter?"_

_Harry could tell Snape was thoroughly enjoying himself, denying Harry the thing he wanted when he was so panicky._

_"Look," said Harry angrily, "Crouch isn't right — he's — he's out of his mind — he says he wants to warn —"_

_The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes and a mildly curious expression._

_"Is there a problem?" he said, looking between Harry and Snape._

_"Professor!" Harry said, sidestepping Snape before Snape could speak, "Mr. Crouch is here — he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!"_

_Harry expected Dumbledore to ask questions, but to his relief, Dumbledore did nothing of the sort._

_"Lead the way," he said promptly, and he swept off along the corridor behind Harry, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly._

Snape watched the tall wizard and young boy disappear down a school corridor, trying to puzzle out what he had just head. Potter cold be an attention seeking louse, but the boy had not been lying, Snape was convinced of the veracity of his rantings when he looked into those deep green eyes. There were other terrors in the Forbidden Forest tonight besides Hagrid's creatures, but Harry would be in no real danger with Dumbledore by his side.

Barty Crouch, here at Hogwarts, wandering about the Forbidden Forest? Snape ran through all the possibilities in his head, trying to ferret out what in the world would bring Crouch to Hogwarts without alerting Dumbledore first. This was connected to the Dark Lord, connected to Potter, connected to the Triwizard Tournament…but how? Someone in the castle was the missing link…

Snape hated not knowing, not being in control. The older he got, the more he realized that information, not wealth or strength, was the true key to power. He felt toothless, back to his days as a student, and the feeling disgusted him. Back to Spinner's End, a pillow over his head, an alcohol soaked voice laughing, his chest heaving and constricting…Snape opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor. My headaches are getting worse…

Snape removed a small vial from his robes and drank, long and deep. He stood up, shook off his self-loathing and decided to follow the pair into the forest – Dumbledore might need another wand on hand tonight. But as Snape took a step forward, a silvery white shadow floated towards him, brightening the dark hallway outside Dumbledore's office.

Snape's wand instantly appeared in his hand, ready to strike, but he lowered when the shadow revealed itself to be a snowy white phoenix. Its feathers were a gentle white, its plume made of silver and wisps. It stopped and floated in front of him, flapping its silver wings like a giant hummingbird. Its mouth yawned open and Dumbledore's voice sounded low from within.

"Krum stunned. Karkaroff furious. No sign of Crouch. Find Minerva and come to the Forbidden Forest. Now."

Snape slowly digested the message as the silver white phoenix melted into the air. He then broke into a dead sprint, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

As Snape raced to the Gryffindor tower he could never have known that at the exact moment, Barty Crouch Jr. was burying his dead father in Hagrid's garden, and the dark spectre that was Lord Voldemort was teaching Wormtail a very painful lesson.


	40. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Members of the Hogwarts' faculty prepare for the imminent return of the greatest Dark wizard to ever live.

**Chapter 40**

**Best Laid Plans**

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had one of the finest Quidditch pitches in all Britain, if not the world. The pitch was a large oval field of amazingly lush grass, with an imprint of the school castle mowed into the dark green blades. At each end of the pitch stood three hooped goal posts of differing heights, silent sentinels standing guard over the grounds. Large grandstands stood in a circle around the pitch, offering spectators breathtaking aerial views of the flying action.

Severus Snape slouched low in the empty grandstands, his feet lazily propped up on a railing. He looked down upon the field, frowning in concentration, for the pitch no longer resembled its usual self. The goal posts were gone and much of the grandstands had vanished, only to be reconstructed near one end of the oval field. The pitch itself was now full of tall hedgerows, taller than three men put together, taller than some giants. The hedgerows formed a maze, convoluted and crisscrossing all over itself. Snape spied Hagrid and his ugly hound walking through the maze, tending to one beast or another within the maze grounds. Alastor Moody limped along the maze perimeter, stopping every so often to poke at a hedge or bark out some order to no one in particular.

Snape saw the Hogwarts castle looming behind the pitch, the Great Lake off to the left, the Forbidden Forest beckoning to the right. He felt much calmer than he had the night before – the maze may be filled with dark terrors of the night, but the Champions would be right in the middle of campus, surrounded by a plethora of wizards loyal to Hogwarts and Dumbledore himself.

Snape spied Minerva McGonagall exiting the maze and turn towards the grandstands, he languidly watched as she slowly made her way up to him.

“What are you doing, sitting up here all alone?”

“Just taking in the sights and sounds of our beautiful campus.”

“You get skinnier every time I see you, have you been eating anything lately?”

“I was unaware you’d been promoted to the health and wellness coordinator of Hogwarts, when was the announcement?”

McGonagall ignored the jape and sat down next to Snape, stretching out her legs alongside his.

“I found nothing last night, you?”

Snape kept finding his eyes were drawn to the hunched figure of Moody, who now happened to be waving his arms in a tantrum and screaming something at Hagrid. “Me neither, if Crouch did come back to Hogwarts, he’s long gone now.”

“You don’t believe the children? What cause do they have to lie?”

“I…I don’t know what to believe anymore. It was dark, they were near the forest…mayhaps they thought they saw him.”

“Someone stunned poor Viktor.”

“Yes…someone.”

The professors sat together in silence, staring out across the maze, each lost in their own thoughts and worries. After a time, Albus Dumbledore strode down to the maze from the castle, flanked by several teachers. McGonagall put her hand on Snape’s shoulder, “He’s here.”

The pair made their way down the stands to the maze entrance and fell in alongside the other teachers, who had formed a semi-circle around Dumbledore, Moody and Hagrid. The maze entrance was stunning – a golden arch that shimmered magnificently in the waning sunlight.

Dumbledore raised his hands for quiet, and the muttering died down, “I want to again express my gratitude and thanks for everything you all have done to make this tournament a success. I know how much extra work has been piled on you, on top of your already busy schedules, and I appreciate how hard you’ve worked to keep both the Champions and spectators safe, with nary a word of complaint. Aside from one or two wrinkles,” Dumbledore said with a smile and a few chuckles sounded from the group, “it’s been rather smooth sailing. One final time this year, I ask you to go above and beyond your normal school duties.”

“For Hogwarts!”

“Our pleasure Headmaster!”

“To the Champions!”

Dumbledore beamed, stroking his long white beard as he looked around the assembled group. “The final task is the brainchild of the judges, designed to test the Champions’ moxie, inventiveness and overall magical ability. The four must brave this hedgerow maze behind me; the winner will outwit the others, solve complex puzzles and conquer ferocious beasts. Our very own gamekeeper has populated the maze with creatures of all types of ilk and Professor Moody will be overseeing the maze security. Alastor?”

Moody limped forward, waving his wooden staff at the small crowd. “It’s up to you and me to keep these children safe. Yes children, let’s not lose sight of the fact that these “Champions” are mere pups. There’ll be real dangers in the maze and we must all stay vigilant during the task! Hagrid, the arm bands, if you please.”

Hagrid stepped forward and handed out red and gold arm bands to the teachers. Snape placed his band around his left bicep; the band cinched tight against his skin and sent a warm tingling sensation throughout his body as it magically binded with him.

When Moody was satisfied everyone present had secured their bands he continued, “These will allow you access to the maze at any time, from anywhere, and will render the dangers in the maze impotent.”

Moody walked over to hedgerow and tried to force his way through the leaves. After a few seconds of struggling, he made no progress in breaking through and got an armful of thorns for his trouble. He then clasped on an armband and approached the hedgerow again. The thick brush magically separated and formed a human sized hole for him to walk through, allowing Moody to disappear into the maze. A few moments later, a hole soundlessly appeared from within another hedgerow and Moody stepped through, the hedgerow melding back together once he had passed.

Several of the teachers clapped and even Snape had a begrudging look of appreciation on his face. Moody waved a gnarled hand at them, “If any of the children find themselves overwhelmed or in need of assistance they will fire red sparks into the sky,” said Moody as he tapped the buckle of his worn belt, causing red sparks to jettison high into the sky from deep within the maze. The red sparks floated higher and higher, until they broke apart in loud sunbursts of red and crimson.

“The teachers who find themselves closest to the sparks will enter the maze and rescue the child. It’s imperative we do not interfere unduly with the competition, but we must also err on the side of caution. I’d rather field angry accusations of teacher interference and cheating, than a mother’s mourning. Any questions? Good, let’s make sure this goes off without a hitch. Dumbledore has put me in charge of security and I’ll be damned if –”

“Thank you Alastor,” Dumbledore quickly interjected and began to usher Moody back towards the maze. Just as the pair walked through the golden arch, he turned back and exclaimed, “Thanks again everyone. To Hogwarts!”

The teachers cried back in unison, “To Hogwarts,” and began to head back to the castle.

Hagrid gave Snape a wink and quickly followed after the Headmaster into the maze. Snape stood quietly, choosing not to walk back with the others, and instead stared at the maze entrance. Everything seemed in order, nothing obvious caused him worry, and yet he could feel a thread tugging at the back of his mind, a worrying itch he could not scratch…

Inside the maze, Dumbledore and Moody were tracing the path to the center and inspecting the obstacles on the way. Hagrid and Fang had raced ahead and their excited shouts and barks echoed back to the wizards.

“The mutt is just as excited as Rubeus.”

“They’re more alike than not. Where’s the center Alastor?”

“Just up ahead,” replied Moody and sure enough, after a slight turn in the path, the center of the maze appeared before them. A hundred yards ahead lay a large, alabaster white plinth, shining in the day’s last rays of sunshine.

Dumbledore reached into his robes and removed the Triwizard Cup. The cup was made from dragon steel that never dulled, a strong column base, two ornately carved handles and a shining crystal bowl in the center – a beautiful testament to the tournament.

“See this carefully to its new home,” said Dumbledore, with a twinkle in his eye. He handed Moody the cup and turned away, disappearing back into the maze.

Moody gently held the cup as he might have held small child, finally reaching the plinth after many ginger steps. He delicately placed the cup on the plinth, lost in its beauty. The cup represented everything to him, a year of hard work and careful planning, it was his chance to achieve ultimate deliverance for this Lord. He stared hungrily at the sparkling treasure, the way a ship wrecked sailor might eye a cup of spring water. Everything was coming together so neatly…

Moody reached into his robes and removed a thin sliver of silver white thread. He wrapped the filament around a gnarled finger and then pulled at it – the string stretched longer and longer. He began rolling the string around in his palms and then intertwined it across all his fingers. He pulled and tugged at the filament, until the silver thread was a hundred times longer than before – a big spider web now lay in his calloused hands.

He wrapped the webbed filament around the magnificent cup, stretching it taut across every gleaming inch. The silver spider web clung to the cup like a ferocious glue, and then slowly sunk into the cup’s surface – within a few moments there was nary a trace of it left.

Moody reached for his ever present hip flask and took a long pull…polyjuice potion never tasted so good.

* * *

 

It was a dark and unforgiving sky, the air hung heavy with cloying dampness yet no rain had fallen. Snape slowly walked around the maze perimeter, running his hand over the wand stowed in his robes – how naked he felt when it wasn’t by his side.

The night was dark and full of terrors, thought Snape grimly as strange howls and screams rang from within the maze. Tiny rays of light shown through the tall hedgerows, weakly lighting Snape’s way around the edges of the maze. He could see topiary animals through small gaps in the hedgerow bushes, and would catch some of them moving to turn and stare at him as he passed.

A branch snapped from behind, Snape pivoted and dove to his side – when he came rolling up, his wand stretched in front of him, pointing menacingly. He lowered it as the dark shape slowly materialized into Dumbledore.

“Please put that away Severus, I’m just an old man nowadays.”

Snape made to sheath his wand, thought better of it, and kept it in his hand. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour,” he hissed.

“Moody’s becoming quite a handful lately. Full of nervous excitement, convinced something bad is going to happen tomorrow.”

“For once I agree with the crazy lunatic, I feel as though all the strange happenings this year have been building to this moment.”

“The maze is in the middle of campus, your fellow teachers will be prowling the outskirts of the maze and I’ve invited some Aurors to attend the proceedings. What other precautions can I take?”

“You could simply cancel the whole bloody spectacle.”

The pair walked on in silence for a time, with only their footsteps and the creepy sounds from within the maze to keep them company. It was Dumbledore who finally broke the silence.

“Odd disappearances marked your Lord’s rise to power, and it’s happening again.”

“A forgetful witch and Barty Crouch?”

“And that caretaker I told you about.”

“What does an old muggle man have to do with anything?”

“He was from the village of Tom’s parents…”

Snape turned to Dumbledore and asked in earnest, “How could you possibly know that?”

Dumbledore continued on in silence, the darkness of the night creeping blacker and blacker the further they got from the middle of the maze.

“My mark has become so clear, I can now see every scale on the snake. Is He back?” Snape closed his eyes as he walked, afraid of the answer.

“I think not, for you would likely have been summoned to his side at once.”

“Shall I go at once? Back to Him when He calls?”

Dumbledore paused a moment, snuck a sideways glance at his Potions Master. “You do not have to go when called, you can stay here with me, pledge your allegiance to the Order openly. You do not have to walk back into the snake pit if you do not want to…”

“But?”

“Let me speak plainly, for our time is short and the night grows even shorter…I’m unsure if Lord Voldemort can ever be defeated,” replied Dumbledore, as Snape flinched at the sound of his dark master’s name. “Surviving the killing curse…it’s unheard of. I work every day to uncover how he achieved that feat, but there are times I feel as though I know less now than when I started out searching for the truth of that night.”

“You said you’d speak plainly with me, not in long winded circles.”

“I do command you Severus, I do not demand you go back to your Dark Lord, but I don’t believe we can win this war if you do not brave death once again. A spy in the Death Eater camp is more than crucial for our cause, I believe it’s necessary. I also believe that there’s a very good chance I’m asking you to go to your death.”

If Snape was scared, he betrayed no flash of it, his face remained a pale mask. “The Dark Lord does not forgive easily. Is there nothing we can do to prevent His return?”

“I always knew Tom would return, but I’ve never been able to discover how to prevent it. I know he’s gathering his strength again, but where and how…this I simply do not know. I ask this great favor of you – will you walk back into the snake pit when the charmer plays his tune?”

Snape gripped his wand tight, his knuckles whitening along the wooden shaft. “I would walk through the seven circles of Hell for her.”

Dumbledore nodded, “What we do for love…”

Snape put an arm on Dumbledore, signaling a stop to their nighttime stroll. “I’m not afraid of dying, truly. I’ve been living on borrowed time for years, I know this. But I am afraid of dying for no reason, without servicing a purpose. He’ll read my mind, ferret out my inner thoughts and feelings. He’ll know the truth of me as soon as He walks through my house.”

“But of course.”

“You must try again to force yourself into my mind, a true Legilimency attack. I’m unprepared to face Him like this.”

“We’ve tried Severus,” said Dumbledore and then he smiled a tired, sad smile. “I’m no gifted Legilimens and cannot truly read you, you’re more powerful than you know.” Dumbledore held up his hand to stop Snape from interrupting. “It’s the truth my boy, you’re much stronger at Occlumency than me.”

“For God’s sake, can you stop playing the humble servant for one minute?! You’re a terribly powerful wizard! Any type of practice is worth something! I cannot face Him without practice!”

“Assaulting one’s mind has never appealed to me – I’d rather convince than coerce, motivate rather than threaten.”

“This is no time for one of your “moral” speeches. I need your help or I’ll fail…I’ll die for nothing.”

“We’ve tried, I went through your house as forcefully as I dared. I could barely sense your concealed doors, could never hope to penetrate them.”

“Push through, try to break in.”

“That would risk harming you permanently. I cannot.”

“The Dark Lord does not care about inflicting everlasting pain.”

“I know Severus, I know,” Dumbledore said. In the waning moonlight he had never looked as old to Snape as he did right now. “But if I didn’t think there was a real chance you could convince Tom, I’d never ask you to go.”

“Is that so? Sometimes I wonder…”

Dumbledore did not rise to the bait, rather, he turned and continued along the edge of the maze and, after a time, Snape caught up to his long strides.

“It would be…the truth is, if you can get him to trust you again, the information would be invaluable. You would become the greatest weapon the Order would have. Countless lives would be saved from certain ruin.”

“I will try.”

“You’re the most powerful Occlumens I’ve ever known. Your thoughts slip into the ether where even I cannot trace them. I believe Severus.”

“Could you track me? I could signal for help?”

“The risk would be too great, he’d be wary and would be alert for a trap. He’d know at once you are no longer his and your life would be forfeit.”

Snape looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

“How am I still alive? I once saw a man, a wizard you had sent to us, take the Dark Mark and it burned him alive from the inside out. His blood turned to lava, his organs to ash, his breath to black smoke. The Mark knew he was false and judged him so. How can I still carry the Mark and the Breath of your Phoenix, all at once? How can this be?”

“When you took the Mark you were consumed with misguided hate, frustrated at life, but one can never lose their true inner essence. I don’t know of anyone who is such a balance of light and dark. I don’t know how you can carry the Mark and conjure such a corporeal patronus. There are some things even I cannot comprehend Severus.”

Snape’s words were tumbling out of him now, a gushing torrent flowed as his guarded walls were lowered. “He’ll ask many questions of me, most of which I’ve got no good answer for. Where was I when He fell? Why didn’t I search high and low for Him? What’ve I been doing lo these years? Why did I help keep the everlasting stone from His grasp? And why, oh why, is the Potter boy still drawing breath?!”

Dumbledore stared hard at his heaving Potions Master. “You’re more powerful than you know…”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said that! You think I can beguile and hoodwink Him? Fool the Dark Lord, the greatest dark wizard to ever live, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen?”

“Tom Riddle is not and never will be the greatest wizard to ever live, much less the most accomplished. He is weak and fearful, terrified of things he cannot ever hope to understand!” Dumbledore rose taller, his words echoing off the large hedgerows and the cold night air.

“He’s afraid? Of what? Of nothing!”

“Of me. Of the Order. Of humanity and empathy and love. But He’s most afraid of death and the long unending march of Father Time. Even as a little boy, the spectre of death preyed upon his dreams, it became a deep seated fear that took hold of him and never let go. The things he’s done, the reason he was so restless and never sated, even at the height of his power – it’s this unquenchable desire of his to conquer death. He names you Death Eaters, he uses murder and the threat of death as his main weapons…why do you think that is Severus?”

“I’ve no time for your lessons Dumbledore! Where was I when He fell so many years ago?!”

“Why, you were by my side, where he’d ordered you to be. You were gaining my trust, noting my tendencies, gathering invaluable information for him.”

“Why did I not search for Him, try to rescue Him over these past years?!”

“Because you believed him dead. You were not privy to his innermost powers, and your meager faith wavered. You doubted his strength, his resolve, like a fool you doubted his awesome power. You’re a coward and care only for your own skin. The meek always flock to the bold, and when he fell you found another protector – no matter how distasteful you found the life raft of Hogwarts, you jumped on and set sail.”

“Why’ve I never left you, if I haven’t truly forsaken the dark?”

“Because you’re a spineless sell sword and run wherever the weather is warmest. You decided on the easy road and chose to play my pet – you’ve gone to sleep on a full belly, lined your pockets full of coin, and the only dangers you’ve had to face are unruly school children. The other road, the road of a true and faithful servant of his, would’ve had you face Aurors, Azkaban and Dementors. Quite a simple choice really, for a coward such as yourself.”

“But some of my brothers and sisters did try to find Him. They went looking and never forsake Him, they paid the cold island price.”

“Tis true Severus, others paid the devastating price borne from their unwavering loyalty. But you’re a snake, and snakes do not stay about when there’s danger lurking, they slither away and find a hole in the ground. You must beg for forgiveness and pray he sees value in what you’ve to offer.”

Snape’s black pools flashed purple as digested all that had been said, committing it to memory, and looked as though he was about to wretch.

“And of course you didn’t help him recover Flamel’s stone. You don’t possess true deep magical prowess and were unable to sense who Quirrell truly was, so you continued to play jester to my king. And why should he have revealed himself to you? You’ve clearly proved to be unworthy of his secrets, unworthy of his trust and respect.”

“Why have I let Potter draw a single damned breath?”

“Come now Severus, such a silly question that you’ve got no answer for? There are many reasons. A mere child defeated a terrible and great dark wizard, perhaps Harry would grow up to be worthy and lead a new legion of Death Eaters into the future that was promised. Perhaps you were waiting to see how he turned out before decided the best course of action,” Dumbledore sneered, reminding Snape of a night on a hilltop long ago. “But I think it might’ve raised my suspicions if the child I’ve spent my entire life protecting was attached by one of my teachers.”

Dumbledore seemed to grow as tall as one of the hedgerows they stood alongside, tall and terrible and fierce. Snape shrunk down into a little ball, truly afraid of the power emanating from the Headmaster.

“Besides, you’re a coward Severus, and you feared the fate that awaited you if you were cast outside the gates of my school, were scared to face the cold, hard world.”

“Bu – but…how could such a worthless half-blood trick you? The great and powerful Albus Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore chuckled, allowing himself a sardonic rictus of a grin. “You didn’t fool me, rather, I _chose_ to believe in you. I desperately needed to save one of my wayward sheep, and you simply played into my greatest weakness. I’ve the capacity for love, for trusting in others…and for forgiveness. I gave one of my lost flock a road back home into fold.”

Snape’s left forearm prickled and he began to rub it in earnest, “Shall I…shall I go if summoned?”

“Yes, you shall go when called. Tell your Dark Lord all you’ve learned of me over the years, tell of how you’ve earned my complete trust by going back to him on my orders…tell him my plans for the Order.”

“You want me to tell Him?”

Dumbledore scowled down on Snape – showing disappointment at his slow student.

“Yes, for I’m obsessed with the Dark Lord and crave to know how he cheated death that fateful Halloween night. I’ve tasked you with discovering his great secret and bringing it back to me as payment…payment for the life debt you owe.”

Snape shrunk away from the words, closed his eyes and rubbed at them with white balled fists. The sounds from the maze sounded more terrible than ever, the wind whipped at his robes with alarming vigor and the cold night air felt frostier than the depths of a long winter.

“For even cowards must repay their life debts Severus…and you will make good on what you owe me!”


	41. The Prodigal Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old song calls to Snape.

**Chapter 41**

**The Prodigal Son  
**

The Quidditch pitch stood transformed, completely unrecognizable from its normal self – a twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the perimeter, a vast and eerie crisscrossing maze lay within. Grey mist floated from between the brush and bramble, unnatural sounds dancing alongside the haze. The grandstands were filled to the brim, full of excited voices and rumbling feet. The sun had just set and bright stars had taken its shining golden red place, twinkling against a deep blue sky.

The four Champions stood quietly in front of the roaring crowd, silhouetted by the unsettling maze; they were flanked by Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick. The faculty members wore large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest. Ludo Bagman stood off to the side, a thin sheen of sweat slicked his round, bulbous face.

"We'll be patrolling the outside of the maze," said Professor McGonagall to the champions. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

McGonagall's instructions floated along the air to Severus Snape, who watched the scene unfold from within a copse of tall oaks standing next to the grandstands. As Bagman's voice thundered across the grounds, gleefully heralding the Champions, Snape left the shade of the trees and headed after McGonagall.

"Everything all set?"

"Yes Severus, I expect no surprises. Where will you be?"

Snape pointed to a slope up ahead. "I'll have a good vantage point from up there. Good luck."

McGonagall continued on, farther along the outside of the maze and Snape eventually settled up at the crest of the slope, just able to see over the tall hedgerows. He tried to peer into the maze from his vantage point, but a deep blackness had settled into the maze, masking its secrets from prying eyes.

The long seconds passed agonizingly into slow minutes as Snape stood sentinel on the hill, his eyes raking across the maze for any sign of life. The shouts and yells from the grandstands turned to mere whispers by the time they reached him, but the queer sounds from the maze were plain as day. Moody and Hagrid had succeeded if their aim had been to unsettle even the most courageous of the Champions.

A rustling from behind caught Snape unawares and he quickly turned, his wand easily sliding from his robes to his hand. Igor Karkaroff emerged from the darkness, his normally clean shaven and manicured appearance replaced by a disheveled and haunted look.

"What're you doing here? You should be in the grandstands with the other judges," hissed Snape, sheathing his wand and turning back to keep his vigil on the maze.

"Severus, please listen to reason, it's high time we left." Karkaroff kneeled beside Snape, a wild terror floating in his eyes.

"And go where?"

"New York, Capetown…to Mumbai! It matters not, just that we get as far away from Britain as possible! Look!" Karkaroff rolled up his left sleeve and shoved his forearm at Snape. A black snake lay coiled on his forearm…and it appeared to be slithering in a figure eight.

"My place is here Igor, beside Dumbledore and the students. There's a place for you as well, if you want it."

"What I want is to live a full life! He's back Severus and He _will_ come calling soon enough!"

"There's no proof of that," scoffed Snape, his eyes still on the maze. A scream shattered the night air, yet no red sparks soared through the sky. Snape was on his feet in a flash, knocking Karkaroff on his backside. The Headmaster of Durmstrang grabbed at Snape's hem, as if in supplication.

"Please Severus; together, we can double our chances of survival…"

Snape ripped his robes away from the pathetic wretch squirming on the ground. "Get ahold of yourself Igor. If you'll not join us and stay here, under the protection of Dumbledore, then go. Run away and I shall make your excuses as I often did in the past. But I beg you to reconsider your selfishness, for alone you have no chance; united we stand, divided we fall…"

Snape's attention was drawn back to the maze, red sparks soared through the air with a loud crack. With one last piteous look at Karkaroff, Snape took off down the slope at a run. He did not break stride as he approached a tall thorny hedgerow, rather, he put his arms to his face and jumped into the green wall. The hedgerow parted like a sliding glass door, Snape was through and into the maze, landing adroitly on his feet, his senses alight and sharp.

Snape set off down a misty path and a few seconds later he heard the hedgerow behind him part again, the dull thud of lumbering feet landing on soft grass. Coward, Snape thought, as he headed deeper into the misty maze.

He passed magicked statues, golden quicksand pits and a large, rather fearsome looking vulture. He ran by a two headed unicorn, a ghoul and a vampire wrapped up in a long black cloak. But none of these creatures paid him any heed as the red and gold arm band on his left bicep glowed brightly as he passed each obstacle.

Snape dove into hedges with reckless abandon; the green brushes all parting before him like the Red Sea. Karkaroff was close on heels the entire time, a scared dog chasing after its master. A few twists and turns and Snape entered the center of the maze – a white plinth stood before him, shining and empty.

Snape searched but the Triwizard Cup was nowhere to be found. He could hear Karkaroff's labored breathing sounding behind him, scared and disturbed. Snape looked to the sky, but only saw twinkling stars set against a deep, dark blue sky. No golden fireworks, no shouts and screams from the grandstands – if the cup was gone and a Champion declared, where was the pageantry?

And then it happened…the world slowed down and everything moved in slow motion.

Karkaroff yelped in pain and collapsed to the ground, steam rising from his robes. Snape stared at him shock for a fleeting second and then a burning sensation swept through him, a tingling warmth that started in his left arm and spread throughout his body, growing into an angry heat.

He swayed unsteadily on his feet, feverish and sweat soaked. His mind began to pound with an ear splitting hammer – Snape let out a blood curling scream and dropped to his knees, cradling his head in his hands. A vision forced its way into his mind, pushing aside thoughts of Harry, the maze and the missing cup – a misty and dark graveyard, overgrown with crabgrass; a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree; a foreboding hill rose high and menacing; in the distance lay a fine old house.

Snape rolled around in a fitful ball, fighting an overwhelming urge to grasp the tattoo on his left forearm and apparate into the night. He finally got control and steadied himself to a rocky stop. He looked up and saw Karkaroff struggling to his feet. His dark brother looked at him with absolute terror and fled away, deep into the maze, as fast as his legs could carry him.

Snape tried to croak out words of warning, but nothing sounded from his lips except a queer sucking sounds. He watched his Karkaroff disappear into the misty maze with a look angry resignation. He was no true brother of mine.

Snape raised his wand to the heavens and cried out, "Auxilium Rubrum" – red sparks shot forth from his wand in earnest. But when the sparks reached the top of the hedges, they bounced harmlessly back to the ground, as if an invisible cover hovered above. Snape fired round after round of red sparks, but none of them were able to pierce the night sky and signal for help.

With a visceral growl, Snape pushed himself to his feet. The Mark still burned hot and the strange graveyard still danced wildly in his thoughts, but he was able to move again. He struggled toward a tall hedgerow and leapt into it – the cloying smell and taste of bramble and brush filled his mouth and nostrils, the hedgerow grabbed at him with its gnarly branches and prickly thorns. He pulled away from the green hands, spitting leaves from his mouth and picking at small thorns hanging from his robes.

Snape glanced at his arm; there was no red and gold band glowing where it had just moments ago. Magic disappeared if the original caster…Moody must be dead!

Snape took off down a dark path, slipping and sliding on the grass, following the sudden twists and turns as best he could. He blindly raced past a stone statue of a knight, lost in his fears, when a blow came crashing down on him and nearly cleaved his head in two.

The ground rushed up to meet him and Snape tasted the accustomed flavor of blood and dirt. He rolled onto his back and watched the stone knight drop its broken lance and unsheathe a broadsword strapped along its back.

"I'm a teacher of Hogwarts! The tournament's over! It's ended!"

Snape's panicked yells bounced along the maze and the stone knight paid no heed. It advanced on him, swinging the sword with such ferocity that King Arthur himself would have paled in fright.

"REDUCTO!"

A red light careened into the stone knight and struck it in the chest. The knight stumbled backward a step and stared down at where the spell had landed on its stone armor. A ripple flowed out from the knight's breastplate and a second later a thousand tiny stone pieces rained down onto Snape.

The potions master struggled onto his feet and proceeded to head further into the maze, his step much warier this time. He turned a corner and froze for half a heartbeat. Lily Potter stood in front of him, robes gashed and a deep crimson stream flowing from her golden ruby hair.

Snape waved his wand in irritation while muttering, "Riddikulus!"

There was a loud crack and Lily exploded into a harmless wisp of smoke. Snape followed the path around a sharp bend and an old, cloaked woman stood before him. She beckoned at him with a long pale finger and when Snape did not make a move to come hither, she smiled from deep within her cowl – bright red eyes and an unsettling, gummy smile.

"It dashes to and fro, here and there, can stand as tall as a man, or as short as a babe…yet has no legs. It can see in day and night, taste all the colors of the rainbow…yet its smile is certain death. It can –"

"Immobulus," screamed Snape and a bluish jet slammed into the old crone. She gave out a shriek and threw off her cloak, rising seven feet tall. Snape shrunk back in fear and disgust as the old woman's face sloughed off and in its place stood a sunken red skull with snapping vipers in place of hair.

Snape wondered what twisted magic conjured up this warped version of Medusa as he pivoted to the side and fired off a succession of spells, "Incarcerous! Incendio! Stupefy!"

Black robes shot forth and wrapped themselves around the Medusa. She laughed and tore them off in with one powerful shrug. A fiery red beam bounced harmlessly off the creature and another followed suit, slamming into the ground with an angry burst. The dark terror took a giant step forward and whipped her head – a viper flew forth at Snape, its fangs bared menacingly.

"Protego!" The viper slammed into an invisible shield in front of Snape and slid to the ground. Snape stepped on the serpent's head and gave his foot a sharp twist.

The potions master had a crazed look on his face as he screamed "Sectumsempra!" and charged the beast. Invisible lines etched themselves all over Medusa's body and seconds later the lines were filled in with a deep reddish hue. Blood erupted along the creature's body and red droplets whirled as she screamed, flinging viper after viper towards Snape. He ducked and rolled, dodging the flying snakes and creeping closer to the beast.

Medusa stumbled backward as the dark magic struck her repeatedly, the cuts digging deeper and deeper. With a final shriek she turned and scampered away, the few vipers remaining on her skull hissing in anger and pain. Snape stood panting in a shallow pool of tattered robe, congealed blood and shredded snake skin.

He looked about in frustration, which way was south, where is the castle?

Snape slashed his wand downward, a blast erupted at his feet and he floated to the top of hedge standing in front of him. He glimpsed the grandstands due north, but still far away. He gave a yell and dropped back to the ground; he took a step back from the hedge and raised both his arms towards the blue sky. Gripping his wand tight, he arched his arms down and bellowed, "Diabolus Spiritus!"

A searing hot flame of Devil erupted from his wand tip, singing the hedgerow in front of him and continuing on as if it were alive. The flame was not borne from a normal fire, it was cursed, the offspring of dark magic, feeding off the evil present in the maze. The devil's breath tore through the maze hedges like a hot knife through butter, sending thick black smoke swirling to the sky. The fiendfyre mutated as it swept through the maze and headed towards the grandstands; fiery serpents, chimaeras and dragons rose high, screamed loud and fell, rising again higher and hotter than before.

Snape ran along the jagged, blackened path the fire left behind, a road of ruin that led to the grandstands and Dumbledore. Up ahead the fire appeared to run out of steam, dying in a sudden wisp of smoke. Snape followed the black path until it petered out in front of one final hedge. He slashed his wand in front of him and the identical slashes appeared on the hedge until a small hole appeared. Snape pushed and squeezed his way through the leaves and emerged on the other side, red faced and reborn.

The scene that welcomed Snape as he walked out of maze was one of complete bedlam. A torrent of sound gushed forth, a cacophony of cries, yells and shrieks. Screams of "Cedric" and "Dead" sounded throughout the grandstands and the crowds of people milling about the mouth of the maze were in a flustered panic.

Snape spied Dumbledore and Minister Fudge arguing in the midst of a throng of people pushing and shoving each other, Hagrid's enormous frame trying to hold a swell of people back from a limp Cedric Diggory. Snape pushed forward, frantic, desperate to see if another lifeless form lay next to the fallen Hufflepuff prefect.

As he shoved both man and child aside, a voice sounded in his head.

"The boy…the child…"

Snape looked up in shock, through the clamoring crowd he saw Dumbledore staring at him with unblinking blue eyes. He struggled away from the crowd, his black eyes raking across the hysterical crowd and the raucous grandstands. He saw fear and panic and confusion, but no sign of Harry.

Disgust and contempt rose in his throat as he watched full grown wizards running away from the scene, leaving scared children in their wake. He watched one rather fat man in a purple robe shove aside two first years and take off across the lawn towards the castle. Snape's eyes flashed scarlet and he raised his wand, trying to point it between the ever moving crowds and at the fat man's back. Before he fired off an angry hex, he noticed two figures up ahead of the fleeing pig, a man half dragging a dazed child alongside him – a stooped man with worn robes, a man with tussled hair and a weathered face, a man who walked with an exaggerated limp.

Snape pushed aside the crying woman who had just wandered in front of him and sprinted after the odd looking pair. He scrunched up his eyes and repeated the same phrase in his mind over and over again – "He's with Moody…he's with Moody…he's with Moody…"

* * *

Severus Snape sat in his dungeon office, trying to control his angry breathing in the waning light, only a few weak torches flickered on the walls. Banding insults with Sirius Black always got his blood boiling and he needed his emotions calm and collected tonight. Dumbledore's words echoed in his head – "Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…"

"I am," said Snape loudly to himself, his voice echoing in the dark.

He took several more deep breaths and then walked over to a large wooden desk, removing three small vials from a hidden drawer and downing the contents in several gulps. Green, purple and blue liquids slid down his throat, filling his belly with warmth, calming his frayed nerves and dulling the pounding in his chest.

He closed his eyes and felt the sands of his mind shift ever so slightly, the tectonic plates of his memories creak and scrap against each other. His jaw tensed as he rolled images across his eyes, a flickering twisted home movie played out in his mind.

When the movie ended he opened his eyes and took a long look around his office, one of the few places in the whole world that was he could call his own – he felt more attached to this room than he did to most people. A melancholy thought wormed itself into his mind – that he might never visit the castle again, might never see his office again…

Snape stole away from this office, swept through the hallways of Hogwarts and climbed up high, to the lonely Astronomy Tower. He walked out into the open terrace and stared out across the school grounds.

He reached within his robes and removed a picture of a young beautiful red-head; she was smiling and laughing and twirling around a decorated ballroom, a flowing green dress hugging her frame. Snape's black heart tugged at him for a brief second and he allowed himself to get lost in the past.

A cold wind washed over him and the moment passed. He scrunched up the picture and let it fall through his pale fingers. The picture fluttered in the wind and slowly danced away, receding from Snape's memory, to be forgotten.

Snape stared at his mark, but stayed his hand. I can't do it…I'm scared, no terrified…I don't want to die…

A melancholy shrill filled Snape's soul and a red flame swept down and perched on the railing before. Snape stared at the red ball of fire as it continued to sing, nourishing him, strengthening him, and steeling him for the coming inquisition.

Snape then grasped his left forearm with his right hand and the lonely graveyard came alive in his mind. He closed his eyes and spun on the spot.

_Crack!_

When Severus Snape opened his eyes the graveyard no longer swam in his mind, it lay before him, serene and quiet, the calm before the storm. The graveyard showed signs of a struggle, broken headstones and ripped up grass, yet the only sounds were the whispers of the wind.

A baleful moon cast the only light and Snape could not see much, a creeping mist had begun to rise from the ground, haunting the graveyard. Snape removed his cowl, and bared his face. He unsheathed his wand and drove it into the soft ground in front of him. He then knelt before his weapon, bowed his head, closed his eyes and waited.

He waited and waited, nervousness grew into anxiousness and soon became apprehension. He thought he heard soft crying, a nervous whine…a rustling, something large was slithering to and fro.

He heard soft footsteps and raspy breathing and when Snape opened his eyes he was not alone anymore. Pale, skeletal feet stood before him; bony and spider like. He could see the bones beneath the taut skin; long toenails, sharp and jagged, claw-like.

Snape began to shake, losing control of himself and his emotions. He was frozen in terror, his limbs turned to lead, he dared not raise his eyes.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.


	42. What Doesn't Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus finally answers his summons.

**Chapter 42**

**What Doesn't Kill You**

The high pitched scream rang loud and clear across the night sky. The yell was borne of fury and shock and frustrated anger, thirteen years of vitriol spilled out into the air. The shriek spewed forth and echoed across a destroyed graveyard, ringing a warning that seemed to shake the very ground.

The Dark Lord was angry, he was furious, he was wrath incarnate.

He stared at the empty space of grass in front of him that seconds ago held the most precious thing in the world. And now it was gone, vanished, melted into thin air. The boy escaped into the ether mere seconds before certain death. Why can I never end this wretched child?!

Lord Voldemort turned around, his crimson slits gleaming in the darkness. These pitiful wretches, sniveling cowards and useless rats, this ragged band of miscreants is what’s left of my proud legion.

“Crucio!”

Red beams glowed in the darkness, soon accompanied by howls of pain and hurt. Headstones erupted in a shower of stone, grass burnt to a charred crisp, and the ground was chewed up and spit out into bits of dirt. Death Eaters scurried across a desolate graveyard, trying their best to avoid the lasers from hell.

Eventually the Dark Lord stopped screaming and the red beams died away, yelps and moans of the anguished were the only surviving sounds.

“Leave me,” Lord Voldemort hissed. “I said…LEAVE ME!”

The graveyard filled with cracks and pops and soon the Dark Lord’s only companions were a big green snake and the long ago ghosts of the graveyard. What had happened? How had it all gone awry?

Tonight was to be the culmination of years of hard work and scrupulous planning. The night’s festivities had begun like clockwork, every minute detail meticulously planned and flawlessly executed. The former enemy quietly taken prisoner, the servant perfectly placed, the ancient spell ingeniously recreated…the boy had been alone, without aid or assistance. He had been surrounded by my devoted soldiers…I had been reborn and had my precious wand…and yet again fate intervened…snatching defeat from the jaws of victory…

Lord Voldemort played the scene over and over in his mind as he aimlessly walked about the cemetery. What had happened?

The green killing curse had hit the red defensive spell and suddenly the two brother wands had become one. A bright, deep gold beam of light had grabbed ahold of the two and never let go. It has raised both Lord and boy into the air and carried them around the air and then suddenly, both combatants were encased in a golden dome-shaped web, a brilliant cage of light that cut them off from the cares and wants of the world.

Lord Voldemort had obsessively studied both the light and dark, he had unraveled past mysteries and pushed the boundaries of magic farther than they had ever been pushed before, he possessed a rich and deep reservoir of magical knowledge that would impress even the most learned historian, and yet, he had never even heard of the golden phenomenon that had taken place tonight. And then there were the ghosts of his past…

Lord Voldemort shuddered in the chilly night air, even the most fearsome dark wizard of all time had been unsettled by the appearance of his former victims. The man who fears death fears its emissaries just as deeply, and they had seemed so real…

I had used the cursed child’s own blood! How could there still be a lasting shield cloaked about him?! The bitch’s lingering protection should have been destroyed tonight! A tired voice, from long ago, sounded loudly in the night…“You understand much, but not everything…you underestimate the power…of love…”

“Shut up you old fool! You know nothing!” Lord Voldemort waved his wand in another bout of fury and more headstones dissolved into angry pieces. What had happened?

“Wormtail! Show yourself!”

_Crack!_

A short, stubby figured appeared beside the Dark Lord, cloaked and hooded in dark robes. The hunched man dropped to his knees, one pale hand and one silver hand clasped together in supplication.

“Please master…please…”

“Shut your godforsaken sniveling or I’ll cut out your useless tongue.”

Wormtail shivered and mouthed some feeble plea, but no sound issued forth.

“Fetch some food for Nagini and bring me the old Dornish tome from the Seven Cities…now!”

Wormtail scurried off into the mist, a giant serpent slithering along in his wake. Lord Voldemort found a secluded spot near an old yew tree and passed the time thumbing through an ancient book with golden Farsi script and illuminated pages, while his devoted snake consumed a small deer and his piteous servant sat quietly nearby, a constant twitch upon his brow.

As Lord Voldemort read the text again and again, searching for an explanation of the night’s events, his thoughts kept floating back to a singular question, “What now?”

All his painstaking plans had hinged on the boy’s death – I was to be unstoppable! I was to declare my rebirth from the shadows and strike fear into the magical community that celebrated my death and mercilessly persecuted my faithful flock.

Instead, abject failure had come calling once again. The boy had miraculously escaped, another unbelievable stroke of luck, another piece of ancient magic unknown and unforeseen. Fate conspired against the great Lord Voldemort once again…but it was of no matter. I will not be denied; for just as the mighty sea breaks upon the surf, just as the sun rises and sets, just as the world keeps spinning, I _will_ rule the world until the end of days.

A calmness settled over the Dark Lord as he sat quietly, contemplating his next move. I will simply have to operate in the shadows for a time longer, sow discord and distrust amongst my enemies with an invisible hand. Tonight will be of no consequence, I have risen like Lazarus and the child will die in time. Still, as long as the boy lives…

“Shut your filthy sobbing or I promise you Nagini will soon be having dessert!”

Wormtail shoved his face deeper into his robes and turned away, trying in vain to squelch his uncontrollable cries that had suddenly arisen…such a wretched existence for a wizard of such noble birth. Lord Voldemort turned in irritation to his servant and raised his wand when…

_Crack!_

A popping sound echoed in the nearby graveyard, the unmistakable sound of magic. Lord Voldemort turned his head to the sound, Nagini unhinged her jaw to quickly gulp down the last of her meal and Wormtail peered out from his tattered robes in shock.

“Go…”

Nagini slithered away into the darkness and Wormtail scurried after the serpent without a second glance at his master. Lord Voldemort slowly rose and began to make his way to the ruined boneyard. He raised his wand to his lips – how I’ve missed the feeling of holding this – and blew upon its tip. A red mist floated out and scouted ahead of him, swimming silently in the night air to seek out any signs of deception or duplicity. When the red mist dissolved into the night sky with nary a sound, the Dark Lord knew that whatever waited for him up ahead was nothing to fear…

A tall, thin man walked through the night – a white skull with sunken, crimson eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake’s with slits for nostrils. He emerged through a wavy mist and entered a wrecked graveyard, the grass cool and dewy on his bare feet. The home of his wretched father’s bones, the site of his rebirth and a witness to another one of his failures at the hands of that insufferable child.

Lord Voldemort spied a cloaked and hooded figure kneeling silently in the middle of the ruined boneyard, his wand sticking out of the ground in front of him like a gnarled wooden finger. The Dark Lord stood in front of the penitent man, another beggar come calling with his hand out to seek forgiveness from a God.

“I smell guilt on you, as I did with your brothers…but no fear,” hissed the Dark Lord. “Not yet…why have you come calling Severus Snape? You must know I’ve no use for traitors and turncoats.”

The kneeled figure quaked and shivered in apprehension, but still removed his cloak and dared to look up at his Lord – pitiless pools of jet black met burning red slits of lava.

“Tonight, when I called out, many of my Death Eaters came back to me…save for a few missing soldiers who had once promised me undying and everlasting fealty. The Brothers Lestrange and Bellatrix were not here tonight…do you know why Severus?”

The skinny reed kneeling before Lord Voldemort dared not reply, rather, he listened intently to the sermon he was receiving from a dark preacher.

“They sit and wait for me patiently in Azkaban…they would rather suffer and rot in the dark than forsake the vows they pledged to me! True loyalty, leal and honor bound soldiers of the dark. Jackson, Emery, Winston and Walcott also did not come receive me tonight…you know why, don’t you? Four true servants who died long ago in my service.

“There were others as well; McKinley and Eberhard and Arthur of the Black. But these are cowards who will rue their foolishness. Who else have I not mentioned? Tell me Severus…who else is missing…the final members of my true inner circle…TELL ME!”

“I did not come my Lord.”

“Who else? Think! He’s been with you all year at your precious school.”

“Igor.”

Lord Voldemort let out a laugh, an evil and unnatural sound, bereft of any mirth or joy.

“Ah yes, too cowardly to return…he will pay, and soon…yes, Karkaroff will pay the blood price, but he’s not who I speak of. There is another…”

“My Lord?”

“Who else is missing Severus? Who have I not yet named? Who has remained my most faithful servant lo these many years? Who has already reentered my service? Alas, who has never left me?”

Snape ran through the names of his former life…who was missing? Who had been with me at Hogwarts all year?

“Karkaroff and I were the only ones. I swear it, my Lord.”

“You swear it,” sneered Lord Voldemort. “YOU SWEAR IT?!”

Lord Voldemort unsheathed his wand…“CRUCIO!”

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shirked in horrible pain as his insides were twisted out; surely the horrible wailing would carry to the houses around…finally Voldemort raised his wand and the tortured figure lay flat upon the ground, gasping for air like a beached fish.

“Which faithful servant was alongside you throughout the year? You must have sensed the truth at times, or have your powers left you? You will die tonight for your betrayal Severus the snake…how much pain you experience before is up to you…”

“Barty Crouch, my lord.”

“Yesss…my most faithful servant was reborn as well, into an Auror.”

Lord Voldemort allowed himself another fit of twisted laughter as he began to pace around panting Snape.

“Right under your nose,” taunted Lord Voldemort, and then his face darkened. “And right under the nose of that old fool! He was there the whole time, helping the child along, prepping him to die at just the right moment like a calf brought for slaughter…my devoted servant has been whispering in my ear all year. Dumbledore’s suspicions, the school’s security, and some very disappointing tales about his erstwhile brother…”

Lord Voldemort stopped in front of Snape and kicked at him, “Get up.”

Snape lumbered to his feet, hunched over in pain, standing a good head shorter than his master.

“You think me a fool?! Tell me now, this very instant – when will the old fool arrive?!”

“No one is coming but me, my lord.”

“Why are you here?! Surely you must have known I’d never let you leave my presence alive…tell me…why are you here?!”

“My Lord I…I was lost, but now I’m found. When you fell…it was chaos, complete bedlam…I…I was weak. I didn’t want to face punishment from the corrupt. I’ve never been strong, I couldn’t face the island again…”

“Look at me…what are you doing here?!”

“I strayed my Lord, I strayed far from the illuminated path…but I never left it. I’ve been in limbo, in a hellish purgatory…I’ve been waiting…”

Lord Voldemort reached out a slender pale finger and arched it under Snape’s chin – a long thin nail drew the potions master’s up to the heavens, to gaze upon dark crimson slits of fire and brimstone.

“Am I to believe you knew I was coming back? Why are you here…”

…Lord Voldemort was clad in a long dark traveling cloak and black robes as he strode through a field of long grain wheat, the tan colored crop rose waist high and waved in time with a gentle breeze. The day was bright, yet no sun hung in the sky and the air was a perfect temperature, just so between warm and cold. The Dark Lord floated on until he suddenly came to the end of the field and upon an old country road – a gloomy house stood ahead.

Lord Voldemort walked across gravel and sand, through a dirt yard and up cracked porch steps. The house trembled and quaked in fear. it shuddered in apprehension as the Dark Lord raised a bony white fist and knocked upon the front door.

Rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…rat-a-tat-tat…

No hello or welcome sounded from within, but the door soundlessly swung inward to reveal a shadowy alcove. The Dark Lord crossed the threshold and the air immediately began to fill with soft cries, muted whispers and low wails. The door slammed shut of its own volition and a ghostly pale light permeated the house.

Lord Voldemort walked into a sitting room on his left. It was a plain, spartanly furnished room, with a rocking chair, dilapidated old sofa and a black and white television the only pieces of furniture. A reedy pale-faced child was sitting on the sofa staring at the flickering television, a buzzing sound of white noise disquietly filling the room.

The child had milky-white rheumy eyes and jaundiced skin, a vapid expression on his sunken face. The Dark Lord stood over him, blocking the television and eyeing him curiously, but the boy paid him no mind. The same boy also sat in the rocking chair, crying and red faced…and the child was also sitting in the crummy sofa with a bruised face and bloody lip.

Images flashed into the room as the Dark Lord silently watched; a silhouetted man appeared to chase a ghostly image of the boy and violently backhanded the child into the floor, but the scene vanished as quickly as it had appeared. A specter of a crying woman curled up in pain in front of the rocking chair floated in and out of existence, while the red eyed boy stared blankly at the floor.

Lord Voldemort reached down and forced the child sitting on the sofa to look at him; the child stared up at the dark wizard with unfocused eyes, betraying not a hint of fear or confusion or any emotion at all. After a few moments the Dark Lord moved on from the room, leaving behind the unsettling and creepy triplets, and walked through a foyer littered with pictures of a gloomy looking family and into a hovel of a kitchen. The floors were stained with grease, the wallpaper was peeling in ugly rashes and dirty cracks littered the walls – a threadbare table stood alone in the center and a discolored stove was set into a wall.

A sallow-faced child ran through Lord Voldemort and into the kitchen and began to furiously search the room – knocking over the table, kicking over worn down chairs, opening and slamming shut the stove, coarsely rooting through a bare pantry cupboard. The child then flickered and melted into the ether…a few moments later he ran into the kitchen all over again and the panicked scene replayed itself.

A howl thundered from above and the Dark Lord left the kitchen to ascend a ramshackle staircase. From the walls hung portraits of a pallid child with a hooked nose, an ugly woman with black hair and an angry looking man with pockmarked skin. The second floor of the eerie house comprised of a long hallway with several rooms that had no doors.

A moldy, creaky staircase lay at the end of the hall and the Dark Lord swept towards it, peering every so often into the open rooms; one held a hook-nosed man shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner; another showed a greasy-haired teenager sitting alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies.

The Dark Lord reached the end of the hallway and peered up the old rickety staircase – it rose for several steps and then disappeared into a thick, penetrating darkness. The Dark Lord ascended slowly, each step creaking and groaning under his full weight. He pierced darkness with no fear and an old attic materialized – within stood the pockmarked hook-nosed man whose portrait had hung on the walls below.

The man walked in angry gin-soaked circles, a bottle cradled in his hand, muttering incessantly to himself – drunken rabble from a drunken sod. From time to time he would throw the gin bottle against a wall and it would smash to pieces in a loud burst, yet, the glass pieces would quiver and jump back together and soon the bottle would reappear whole and unbroken in his hand as he continued to pace around.

“I know this already!” The Dark Lord’s roar rattled about the attic. “You’re from half-blood stock, born from muggle seed…impure and dirty! I know the secret of your filthy muggle father!”

The Dark Lord rushed out of the attic in anger, pushing aside an old woman and a young boy who were walking up the stairs. He flew down the second floor hallway, pushing past a pretty red-headed child without as much as a second glance. The small child fell to the ground and her green eyes flashed with anger at the dark wizard who had brushed her aside.

Soon the Dark Lord found himself back in the entryway foyer, growing more and more impatient. He smashed a hallway mirror to pieces and ripped brass fixtures down from the walls. A nervous rattling jingled behind him, and when he turned he spied a door that had not been there a moment before – a dark black frame with decaying wooden borders. It rattled and struggled against its hinges as if a great wind flowed behind it, threatening to burst from the seams at any moment.

Lord Voldemort approached the quacking door, but there was no handle, no knob to turn. He pushed against the door, threw his shoulder into it over and over again, but the door stood tall and closed. The Dark Lord let out a furious yell, stepped back and kicked hard at the black rectangle. The door splintered and then bent inwards on itself – faded and worn wood steps lay before him.

The Dark Lord made his way down into a dark, damp cellar where a yawning blackness welcomed him. Eerie sounds resided down here: ghostly whimpers, raspy wheezes and childish squeals. The Dark Lord went forth and a young pale man appeared from the darkness, holding up a pale hand and barring his way.

“You will tell me everything Severus…”

The young man melted away into smoke and in his place the air shimmered; discolored images played out against the dark backdrop, as if a flickering projector was running from above: an ashen faced child watching a young red-headed girl from behind the cover of a green-briar bush, a skinny boy skulking around a house late at night and peering through open windows, a hook-nosed teenager reddening in anger as a pretty girl with green eyes laughed at a handsome boy, a pale teenager softy crying in a forest as a young couple embraced nearby…

Minutes later the Dark Lord stepped out of the house and into a sand swept backyard. His black robe was smeared with white dust and a small rivulet of blood dripped from his pale knuckles. He looked back to the old dilapidated house and frowned in concentration…magical genes tinged with muggle pollution; unfortunate but not unheard of…an obsession with a mudblood; disappointing and disgusting but lesser men were known to suffer from base weaknesses of the flesh and such indiscretions could be overlooked…yet there was something else…

Large cracks began to appear on the walls of the house, jagged rips opened in the brick and mortar, as if the house itself were bursting from its seams. The ground began to rumble underneath Lord Voldemort’s feet, an earthquake aftershock, a lonely tremor from the bowels of the land itself. The Dark Lord crimson eyes turned back to the dirt yard and something in the far back corner caught his evil eye.

In mere seconds Lord Voldemort was across the yard and upon an oubliette built into the dirt ground. He stamped on the brown trapdoor, buckling its hinges and rupturing the wood. Again and again he slammed his foot down; splinters grew into fissures, which gave way to gaping holes, until the wood itself crumbled to pieces.

The door crashed down in a violent splinter, revealing a tunnel that led into a small dark room. And staring back up at the Dark Lord was an old man with a long white beard, a crooked nose and piercing blue eyes…

…Lord Voldemort stood once more in the broken churchyard. He pupils were milky white, but the cloudiness soon evaporated and red flames soon appeared, crimson and scarlet with angry power. He sucked in a large mouthful of air, as if he had just breached a deep ocean cover after being trapped beneath it, greedily sucking in the night air and filling his black lungs.

Before him lay a twisted man; broken and spread eagled on the hard ground, head lolled to one side and a pink tongue hanging out. Snape’s face was covered in spittle and plum colored bruises, ugly scratches lined his wan cheeks and blood flowed freely from his nose and ears.

Lord Voldemort looked down with contempt at the warped creature that lay damaged before him.

“Rennervate!”

A flash of brilliantly colored red light blazed forward and slammed into Snape. His chest convulsed and then pulsed upward, his black eyes flicked open…a violent coughing fit then enveloped him. Snape grunted and heaved for a few painful seconds and then wretched all over himself, discoloring his robes and cloak with blood and green sickness.

“Muggle father, carnal lust for a filthy mudblood wretch and most troubling indeed…acceptance and a deep seated fondness for the greatest blood traitor to ever live, you’ve grown to love the old fool? You’ve been quite busy these past few years…”

“Please my Lord,” choked out Snape. “I…I did what I had to…to survive. I was alone…”

“Spare me Severus, I have seen all you’ve done! No one can hold back from Lord Voldemort, not even a favorite son such as yourself. Any last words before I send you to squealing like a stuck pig to your slovenly father and pitiful slut of a mother?”

“My Lord?” Snape sputtered the words out as a question. His mind flashed back to thoughts and dreams of yesteryear – he had always imagined his death to be one of heroic sacrifice, borne from love and loyalty to his fallen best friend. But to die in an empty graveyard, with only the Dark Lord to witness his end? To die alone and in the dark, covered in his own blood and sickness? A pitiful, yet fair end, to an inadequate life full of failed potential. Tears began to swim in his black eyes as fear seeped into Snape’s mind.

“I – I want you to know…that I wavered and cowered and hid, yes, but I never forgot what you once gave me. I’ve been craven, but I’ve never forgotten the pain and fear you rescued me from. I hope what you saw in me was not just the weaknesses and mistakes, I pray you saw the useful bits of information I’ve acquired about your true enemies.

“Dumbledore and his minions have feared Your return since the night You fell. He’s been preparing for Your return…protected the boy at all costs…even reached into death itself to try and discover your secrets and use them against you. He still controls the Order, has far reaching plans to make the boy stronger than ever and reveal your existence to the world. But the Ministry is in denial; they are the ignorant ostrich, burying its head in the sand.”

Snape paused a moment to spit out a mouthful of blood, before more words came tumbling out; trying to delay the hangman’s noose, using his silver tongue to buy a few more moments of life.

“You saved me and I repaid you with abandonment and lies, but I promise you I’ve never forgotten! Didn’t you see that as well?! I still hold the Dark Mark, it has not consumed me!  I still live to serve! If I can best oblige you this way, by dying here and now, then I do so willingly. You’ve just stood witness to my past and present, and if taking my future pleases you…I gladly welcome the kiss. I give my life in earnest…a life that has always been yours.”

“I don’t need you to give me anything! I can take your life at any moment! The ant has no quarrel with the boot!”

“Yes, my Lord,” squawked Snape as he struggled to one knee, the convict kneeling before his executioner. He bent low before the Dark Lord and cowed his head. “Take my life and release me from this vile purgatory I’ve been lost in since my one true Lord fell.”

“You think your forked tongue will save you now? Rise!”

Snape slowly pulled himself up and stood punch drunk before the Dark Lord, a smashed scarecrow of a man. He looked as though he had been dragged for miles behind a truck and would collapse at any moment. The Dark Lord’s crimson slits flared angrily and he raised his wand with a flourish. There was a whoosh, a loud bang, and a large plume of smoke erupted in front of Snape. He stumbled backward in a coughing fit and when the smoke cleared, a scared man appeared between him and the greatest Dark wizard to ever live.

Anxious sweat poured down the man’s face, sliding across a beetled brow and along dimpled cheeks, coursing down a fleshy neck. He swept his head back and forth between the two strangely garbed men. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping…I…I swear it! I heard noises and lights, I thought it was a…a…”

“You thought it was a late-night party…looking for a certain young girl, weren’t you?” Lord Voldemort’s voice loudly sounded across the empty graveyard.

“No, I swear it, I wasn’t looking for no piece of tail! I was–,” squealed the man but his voice cut off with a start. He continued to mouth frantic pleas and denials, but no sound escaped his lips.

“You swear you’re still loyal to the dark?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“How can you justify your actions? Lord Voldemort does not forgive easily.”

“You taught me to use cunningness to my own ends…that no one in this world can be counted on save for myself. That the only one in this world to provide for me…was me.”

“Why did you not search for me?”

“None of us did my lord.”

“I didn’t ask about your brothers and sisters!”

“I wavered…I was spineless…I thought… I thought my Lord had left me for good…”

Lord Voldemort ignored the silent muggle pig rolling around the grass, had eyes only for his former soldier.

“I am not a cruel man Severus, I understand the weaknesses that disease lesser men. If I did not forgive, I would not have many soldiers left in my flock, would I? I have offered the others who came crawling back to me tonight chances to show their continued loyalty…and I will offer you the same. Lord Voldemort is nothing if not merciful. But I will never forget those who stayed true all this time and those who didn’t.”

“Yes my Lord.”

“When you entered my service I told you the path would be hard, the way treacherous and difficult, did I not?”

“Yes my Lord.”

“It is likely that I may still kill you when I’ve finished with you and you’re no longer valuable to me, for one day you will answer for your sins when you’ve outgrown your usefulness.”

“It is only just, my Lord.”

“You can prove to me once again your leal service. Choose Severus, quickly now, life or death.”

“My Lord? I don’t understand.”

Lord Voldemort did not answer, rather, he stepped back and stood quietly beside a cracked headstone, watching and waiting. Snape looked around the graveyard, searching for a clue but there was nothing in the graveyard except despair, there was only him and his Lord and…the muggle. Snape rest his tired eyes upon the frightened man, who was cowering on the ground and screaming silent pleas of mercy to the heavens.

They made a queer threesome; the tall and imposing Dark Lord robed in deep black wool with a hint of crimson and emerald, Snape in a ripped robe and cloak, covered in blood and bile; and a panic stricken common born man who could not wake from this confusing nightmare.

Snape looked at his Lord and knew exactly what price he must pay – he must either do something he swore to himself he’d never do again and sully his soul once more, or spare an innocent and pay the blood price himself.

Snape tried to convince himself he had no other options, and truly…

What choice do I have?

The Dark Lord will kill the eavesdropping muggle no matter what, so why must I die as well? It’s a cold world, dog eat dog, kill or be killed. I might perish anyway, but shouldn’t I at least try to survive this crucible? Why should I die for some stranger, some base born sheep? The meddling fool should have stayed home and not come snooping into business that was of no concern to him. He was out and about late at night looking for trouble, searching for a young girl mayhaps.

And what is one innocent life against another? What is the life of one innocent man if it may save me, and could lead to the power to save hundreds of other innocents in the future? Better one guiltless man go without, if it means a hundred guilty go without as well. It was the law of the jungle, nature’s brutal code…aut neca aut necare.

But the justifications rang hollow in Snape’s throttled mind.

Could I truly prevent a dark future and help shape the course of the history? Perhaps. Could I take one dark step in order to take a hundred light ones?

One life may not matter in the grand scheme of life, it may not even amount to a teardrop in the river of eternity, but it was a blameless life and did not deserve a horrid fate. It was not for Snape to decide the fate of another, but he must. And Snape wanted to live. He knew now, right here in this instant, that he was not ready to meet his maker. He did not want to die in the rubble of a wrecked boneyard, he wanted to live. For her.

Snape reached down and tried to pull his wand out of the soft green earth, but the wooden shaft would not budge. He pulled and pulled, sweat pooling on his brow despite the cool night, yet the soft ground would not yield his wand. Snape relaxed his grip and looked up with grim understanding. He removed his worn and musty robes that were caked with dried blood and foul smelling sickness, revealing a snug undershirt and tan laced breeches that hugged to his stringy frame.

Snape took a long deep breath to stay the hot tears that were threatening to make an appearance and steeled his face into a hard grimace. His mind began locking down and cutting off his emotions, empathy and compassion melted away into cold, empty deadness. He walked with dark purpose towards the cowering muggle, his eyes black as night, his pale hands slowly curling into tight fists…

…Severus Snape stared at himself in the streaked, water stained mirror – crow’s feet lined his tired eyes, sunken cheeks were marked with red blotches and bedraggled hair was tangled in black knots. He was stark naked, his only clothing were scars, bruises and deep gashes across his chest and back. His nails were cracked and crusted with dirt and dried red blood; he grimaced and saw a tooth was missing, a black empty space remained where it used to hang.

A pale hand reached out for an ornately carved metallic snake head and the reptilian head turned slowly to the left – clear crisp water flowed from a serpentine maw and dropped into a wide circular basin. Snape dipped cupped hands under the cool stream and the white water flowing into the basin soon became tinged with dark red, brown and green swirls – a kaleidoscope of water, blood, dirt and sickness.

Soft footsteps padded up to the bathroom door, soon accompanied by soft knocking.

“Severus? Are you alright?”

The only reply was the dull sound of the cold water running from the metal snake tap, a steady unbroken stream of clear liquid.

“Severus? Shall I fetch Poppy?”

More questions of concern persisted for a time, but soon the footsteps receded and Snape was alone once again. He let the cold water cleanse his hands, if not his conscience, and then splashed his face over and over again, the cool water sluicing through his greasy hair, along his face and down the nape of his neck. The water left a trail of prickly goosebumps in its wake, washing away tired sweat and sliding down weary muscles and old bones.

Snape could not bear to look at himself any longer and turned away from the mirror, finding a damp corner of the bathroom. He leaned against a white tiled wall and slowly slumped to the ground, a streak of red marking the tiles as he met the ground. He hugged his knees to his bony chest and rested his cheek upon them, quietly listening to the drip drip drip of the serpentine faucet.

And then Severus Snape quietly cried himself to sleep.


	43. Winds of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An agent of the Ministry wades into the coming war.

**Chapter 43**

**Winds of Change**

The alleyway was a dark and winding snake, chipped cobblestones and grimy debris made up its belly with darkened storefronts as its scales. A squat figure hurried along the shadows, cloaked in a long hooded purple cloak with velvet pink trim. The purple hood ventured deeper and deeper into Knockturn Alley, quietly passing eerie storefronts, strange apothecaries and bizarre antique merchants.

Upon reaching a dead end, the purple hood came to an abrupt stop in front of a blank wall and looked about furtively; a stubby hand appeared from within the folds of the cloak and nimbly produced a long wand. Click, clack, clink – the wand deftly tapped a three touch sequence on the bricks and blank wall revolved in on itself to reveal a musty smelling tunnel. The purple hood slinked into the secret tunnel…two shadows detached themselves from a nearby wall and soundlessly followed into the dark hole.

The tunnel continued on for half a mile and then gradually sloped upwards, eventually pouring out into an open air market, filled with the sights, smells and sounds of both the magical and muggle alike – the infamous Black Bazaar. The Black Bazaar was an open secret in underground London, a black market that was tolerated by both the magical and muggle authorities. Bottom feeders and men of quiet disrepute would congregate and sell all manner of wares – valuable artifacts, stolen art work and outlawed weapons could be had for the right prices. Spices, potions, spells, poisons, and even flesh changed hands in the market as often as day turned to night.

Despite the cloistered atmosphere and violent men that the Bazaar attracted, unrest was the exception and not the norm. Somehow, the marketplace policed itself efficiently and ruthlessly – severed hands, feet and even heads were tarred and mounted on spikes around the souk, announcing the punishment for thieving, lying and killing while on market grounds.

The purple hood mixed in with the flowing crowd and entered the market, walking by all manner of shops and oxcarts, pushing past merchants hawking their ill-gotten wares and skirting through constricted walkways lined with crammed together stalls. At the far end of market plaza stood a nondescript red brick building, sandwiched between an exotic apothecary whose sign claimed it was the world's foremost authority in deadly potions and a butcher shop that had all manner of creature hanging from hooks. The purple hood knocked twice on a plain latticed door in front of the brick building and was soon permitted entrance. Two shadows detached themselves from the throng of people lining the market and made quietly followed.

The purple hood entered a smoky parlor decorated in the manner of a prohibition speakeasy. Scantily clad women lounged on velvet and leather sofas, while muscular young men in tight sequined shorts worked the room, handing out drinks and cigarettes to well-dressed patrons. The purple hood walked to a back staircase and ascended quickly to the third floor landing and, without knocking, entered an unnumbered door at the far end of a long wooden hallway.

The door swung shut and the purple hood pushed past a doorway of hanging beads into a small, yet comfortable bedroom. The room was lined with pink wallpaper and hanging pictures of kittens and rainbows. There were several vases standing on ledges lining a few windows, filled with dried flowers of all colors. Pink and white plates decorated a small chest of drawers and a small table was nestled in a corner, with a large pitcher of pink lemonade and two saucers.

In the middle of the room lay a large water bed covered in lacy white bed sheets and pink blankets – a young, doe-eyed girl sat quietly upon the bed, slowly swaying as the water bed settled down. She had smooth white porcelain skin, dirty blond hair and whitish pink eyes, with a sweet, innocent face.

Her lips were laced with a light pink cream and her cheeks had been flecked with sweet smelling talcum powder. Her lithe and delicate body was covered in a pink catholic school girl outfit, replete with long white stockings, a short skirt and pink tie. Her cherubic faces wore no laugh lines or crow's feet, rather, it was smooth and supple, with a youthful exuberance exuding from her shy smile. She could have been fifteen or thirty-five, it was impossible to tell.

The purple hood drank in the sights and smells of the room, and then pushed back a long cowl to reveal a broad, flabby face with a little neck and a very wide, slack mouth. The stout face held large, round, and slightly bulging eyes and a piggish nose – Dolores Umbridge was very pleased with what lay before her. A rather long tongue snaked out from her small white teeth and licked a circle around her red, bulbous lips. Madame Lacroix's was expensive, but my goodness, her _wares_ were certainly worth the price of admission.

Umbridge shed her purple cloak and let it fall to the floor – she wore pink dress robes underneath, a flowing gown that did well to hide her stocky, boyish frame. She sat next to the ravishing creature on the water bed and laid a gentle hand on the girl's knee, as they both swayed with the bed's ripples.

"How are you this evening?" asked Umbridge in a fluttery, girlish, high-pitched voice.

"I'm well, my lady," came the soft voiced reply.

My God, the silky sweet voice is like a warm, comforting bath on a cold night. Umbridge tried to slow her excited breathing – she'd paid two month's salary for this vixen and was determined to squeeze very drop of pleasure from her allotted time. She playfully squeezed the girl's knee, then leaned in to breathe in the intoxicating smell wafting from the girl's freshly shampooed hair.

"I understand you want to apply for admission to my all girls boarding school, is that correct?"

Confusion flashed across the girl's face for just a brief instant, and then it was instantly replaced with a demure smile. The girl cast her eyes shyly to the ground as she replied, "Yes mam, that's correct. I've no family and am searching for a safe place to pursue the fine arts."

"I see, how commendable, but you must understand I only accept the very best. My institution has very…strict standards. What type of skills do you have to…offer?"

Umbridge found herself losing concentration and short of breath, a warmness began spreading throughout her. This creature is truly yummy, I must remember to ask Sylvie where she found this little minx.

The girl stood up and slowly walked in front of Umbridge, a ballerina preparing to stretch before her big performance. She was petite, but stood tall in her high inched, open-toed stilettos. She twirled around like a ballerina and then gave her back to Umbridge while she bent to touch her toes. Umbridge let out a long, yearning sigh and reached a hand out, before quickly pulling back. No, I must show some patience.

Umbridge stood up and walked over to the chest of drawers. She opened the top drawer and slide it open slowly – inside lay white leather gloves, a long handled brush, a small knife, small blackjack and a fearsome looking cat o' nine tails. Her bulging eyes took in each item and she finally reached into the drawer and removed the brush. As she reached turned back to the girl in giddy excitement, a quiet but persistent knock sounded at the door.

Umbridge's smile vanished instantly. "What is this nonsense? We are not to be disturbed!"

"I'm so sorry," squeaked the girl as she quickly scurried off.

The door creaked and soft voices spilled into the room. Umbridge wore an angry scowl and glowered at the girl when she pushed through hanging bead door.

"It's for you miss."

Umbridge gave the girl another angry look and then walked to the door, ready to blast whoever was there. The door was open a slight crack and she pushed her stubby head through – two dark shadows stood in the dark hallway.

"What is it Boggs? You and Harry are supposed to be my unseen guardian angels, not incompetent and bothersome fools!"

"Uh, I'm sorry, Undersecretary, but, umm–"

"Out with it you idiot."

"It's the Minister…he's called another emergency cabinet meeting and your presence is required."

Umbridge stared at her lackey in sullen silence for a few moments, before dismissing him with, "Meet me in the downstairs parlor in 10 minutes."

"But the Minister said to come immedia–"

"Ten minutes!"

Umbridge slammed the door shut in annoyance and stalked back into the bedroom. The house rules at Madame Sylvie Lacroix's were simple yet rigid: no magic, no killing and absolutely no refunds. The girl looked up and smiled when Umbridge entered through the swinging beads, but her smile faltered at the look she received. Umbridge dropped the brush to the floor and stalked angrily over to the open drawer. She pursed her lips in anger as her hand hovered back and forth over the small knife, the blackjack and the over the cat o' nine tails.

When Umbridge finally turned around to the face the girl, a long winding black whip rested in her stubby right hand. The cat o' nine tails was a long winding rope, a terrible cotton cord with nine knotted throngs woven into it. Each hard knot was inlaid with silver and gold and the handle was made of a dark black obsidian. Umbridge snapped the whip against the floor, its spiked end dug into the hardwood floor and tore out a small groove. The girl shrunk back in fear as Umbridge approached, her small delicate hands grabbing the large pink blanket on the bed.

"Miss," the girl's soft voice faltered. "What are you doing?"

Umbridge didn't deign herself to mouth a reply. Instead she walked over to the bed and whirled the whip over her head, swinging it down with alarming power. _Crack!_

* * *

Dolores Umbridge stared sourly out the window of her Ministry town car, watching rain beat against the cold glass pane. On the outside, the town car appeared to be a normal black Mercedes, slowly winding through late night London traffic with its fellow brothers. However, on the inside this particular town car had no backseat – Umbridge sat within a large living room, lounging on a large sofa wide enough to seat four people. A rather large fat man was snoring in a rocking chair and a black haired woman was quietly leafing through a stack of old parchments on the other side of the living room. A spacious kitchen lay next to the living room and there was a dining room as off to the right, which held even more people sitting down to a meal.

The town car pulled off a main thoroughfare and drove down a one-way street that ended into a cul-de-sac lined with rows of expensive cars. The town car stopped in front of a large archway and a white gloved porter rushed out into the rain to open the car door. Umbridge quietly stepped out of the car, took the umbrella held out for her and headed into the Quincy Park hotel.

The renowned hotel was named after a famous colonial British general, but the Quincy family had sold most of its interest in the hotel several generations ago to a well-regarded legal and real estate firm, whose silent majority shareholder was listed as an ancient British family known as the Malfoys. The new proprietors eventually took over the entire ownership of the hotel and its board, after the remaining Quincy family members strangely died within a few months of each other and the other members of the extended family surprisingly showed no interest in claiming their shares. The only aspect that now remained from the original build and decor was the famous hotel name.

Umbridge walked through a magnificent foyer with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers and marbled floors to a bank of glass elevators in a corner. A few minutes later she was ushered into the penthouse apartment of the hotel that took up the entire top floor of the hotel – a large open air balcony and swimming pool, fully stocked bar and full service kitchen, plush sofas, leather backed arms chairs, renowned pieces of art and crystal stemware decorated the lavish suite.

Waiters in black suits and white bowties reminded Umbridge of penguins as they rushed about handing out hors d'oeuvres, glasses of wine and expensive cigars to the assembled guests of high ranking Ministry employees, wizarding public officials and aristocrats with conservative political leanings. In the center of the exclusive party stood Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge, holding court over a few smug looking wizards and fawning witches.

Umbridge took a glass of white wine from a red faced waiter and headed for the open air balcony, nodding hellos to friends and colleagues as she skirted by. Rain was still pouring from a dark sky, but somehow the open air balcony was warm and dry, amazingly impervious to the inclement weather. Umbridge looked down on the city of London, sipping her expensive wine and collecting her thoughts.

I see Finnegan and Taylor have been invited tonight for some reason, I swear to God the Minister sometimes acts just like all the other cronies, favoring weak men over strong women every time. As usual the only women here worth their salt are Sarah and I, the others are simply the usual riff raff and arm candy. Umbridge swallowed down the sudden urge to vomit, frustration crawling along her stubby face.

"Dolores, there you are! Where've you been? We were starting to worry."

Umbridge turned around to face a handsome man with perfect white teeth, matching flawless skin and shoulder length blond hair drawn back in a tight pony tail. Malfoy was decked out in a dark blue suit, checkered white dress shirt, brown shoes and crisp orange tie. His mouth curved upwards in a pointed fashion, somewhere between a snarl and a smile, his eyes alight with cunning and curiosity.

The annoyed look on Umbridge's face slid away and was replaced by her most obsequious smile. "Oh stop it Lucius," came a girlish voice. "I was just finishing up some work at the office, my subordinates need a guiding hand at times."

"You work too hard, you know that right?"

"I only live to serve the greater good," smiled Umbridge. She lived in a constant state of fear that her half-blood heritage might one day come to light and jeopardize the acceptance she had gained and cultivated among the pure blood aristocrats of Britain. "You look so handsome this evening."

"Thank you my dear," winked Lucius, as he took her hand and led her back to the party. "Now let us go back inside, there are some people I want you to meet."

Hours later the penthouse suite had emptied of the waiters, bar tenders, less important ministry officials and politicians and the casual invitees – all the remained were the Minister, his top aides and a few powerful friends. They sat around a large oak table, tossing around ideas, theories and new strategies – each person trying to convince and cajole the others to their way of thinking.

The talking and arguing had been raging for a solid hour:

"Why would Dumbledore want to make such a claim? Why push the lie of Voldemort?

"He wants to consolidate his power! He regrets turning down the position of Minister!"

"He has no proof! He's not back!"

"Why would the boy lie?"

"What do the latest polls show? What does the public think of Dumbledore and how he is running the school?"

Umbridge listened to the back and forth with waning patience. Typical old and fat men, bleating and whining the whole night with not even one of them suggesting a course of action. She caught the eye of Fudge and held his gaze, until he raised his hands for quiet and the shouts died down.

"What do you think Dolores? You've been unusually quiet this evening," said Fudge."

"It's quite obvious isn't?" When no one answered, Umbridge plowed on. "Dumbledore has been slowly and steadily running the credibility of Britain's finest wizarding school into the ground. He's clearly worried about getting sacked and so he's tossed out the biggest smokescreen he can find to divert scrutiny upon himself."

"That is exactly what I've been saying," interjected Malfoy. "As Rookwood and Yaxley have pointed out, the last few years at Hogwarts have been quite shocking, a veritable trove of scandals and black marks have characterized Dumbledore's presidency of the school. He tried to steal Flamel's stone…"

"I was told he was protecting the stone," came a voice from the table.

"Whether he was protecting the stone or scheming to keep it for himself," continued Malfoy as a look of angry annoyance flashed across his face, "Dumbledore never should have brought such a dangerous object onto the school grounds. He put the lives of innocent children in harm's way, my son's life!"

Malfoy stood and slammed a palm onto the oak table with a loud smack. He then pointed at several people seated around the table. "Many of you have children and grandchildren at Hogwarts as well! The next year brought even more vicious attacks on the school! It's a miracle no students died that year! He then brings in a werewolf to teach without consulting the school governors! And finally this year the unthinkable happened! The one thing I have been warning you all finally occurred! A student died Cornelius! And now the old fool is using old fears to take the scrutiny off himself!"

The wizard to the left of Malfoy put a hand on the angry wizard's arm to calm him and try to get him to take his seat, but Malfoy shrugged off the arm. "The man's lost it and we have to act! He's obsessed with power and riches, and now he is terrified he will lose his grip on the school. He has…why, he has close to a million galleons in personal loans to me alone!"

Malfoy sat down in his seat, glaring around the table, daring anyone to challenge him and voice dissension. The eyes around the table slowly shifted from Malfoy to Fudge, who was squirming in his seat and playing with bowler hat in his lap.

It was Augustus Rookwood, seated to the Minister's right, who finally broke the hanging silence. "Cornelius I was hired to lobby on your behalf and advise you in all things, to provide you just counsel no matter the consequences. The child who died was well-liked, came from noble pure blood stock, he died on Hogwarts grounds. This is now the second death of a student that has happened on Dumbledore's watch. This should trigger an immediate review of the Headmaster's ability to continue on in his current capacity. He cannot afford the death to be put down to incompetence…he desperately needs a scape goat. And who would be perfect guilty party, but the vanquished Dark Lord? The very name inspires fear and would buy Dumbledore time to get a plan in place."

"Do not hesitate, do not take our warnings lightly," gently whispered Malfoy.

Other voices of agreement began to chime in and slowly the discussion turned to Harry Potter and the child's credibility and outrageous claims of what happened that night. Umbridge suddenly felt claustrophobic, she could not bear to spend another second in that room, with all those good ole boys and their bleating.

She quietly rose from her chair and found her way back to the open air balcony. The rain was still pouring down in buckets and the wet drops were still disappearing before they touched down on the balcony. Umbridge reached her stubby fingers into a pouch around her waist and pulled out a slender cigarette, as she put it in her mouth the other end instantly sparked into flame and she took a deep inhale of the sweet tasting smoke, letting it fill her mouth and lungs. She exhaled out a dark blue puff and watched it slowly swirl towards the sky.

If the men were too weak to act, I'll take charge. Harry was just a child, what was one meddlesome life in the face of a great changing wind. For too long the blood traitors and mud bloods have been ruining everything, infecting the wizarding world with their evil and vindictive ideas.

If the fools here didn't have the stomach to do what was necessary…I would simply have to take charge. A strong women is worth ten men. The boy would have to be silenced from spreading his lies, he would have to be discredited!

An assassin? Make the child feeble and sick? A well placed poison? Dementors perhaps? I've used them before…they would never talk…


	44. Rome wasn't Built in a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first step in the "right" direction

**Chapter 44**

**Rome wasn't Built in a Day**

Albus Dumbledore walked in solemn silence along the edge of the Forbidden Forest on a cloudless night, white moonlight gleaming off his magnificent purple robes and giving him an ethereal quality. His age now numbered in the three figures and he had begun to admit to himself that he had was feeling his age.

He slowly passed Hagrid's hut and heard the gamekeeper bellow loudly at his faithful hound, who had apparently snatched Hagrid's dinner off a trestle table and was loudly devouring it, much to the chagrin of the half-giant.

A small smile traced its way around Dumbledore's lips as he listened to the clamor ringing from the hut and ventured further into the Hogwarts' grounds and away from the castle. The smile fell away as quickly as it had appeared when Dumbledore's thoughts turned towards the growing darkness looming on the horizon. Tom Riddle was back; how – Dumbledore was not quite sure, but he had begun to develop a thesis for the evil steps Tom had taken to chase immortality…

The old headmaster felt like a lost ship in the eye of a weepy hurricane – it was quiet and peaceful now, but violence and terror lurked all around if he took just one false step. The Dark Lord had risen from the dead and only a handful of faithful supporters believed it was true, that the black shadow was alive and well.

The Ministry was not a trusted ally anymore, it was not even an ambivalent party – Fudge was actively undermining Dumbledore at every turn and had even forced the Headmaster to allow a Ministry employee to join the school staff.

How can I convince Fudge? How can I convince the public? How can I convince the world that Lord Voldemort is back? Dumbledore looked up at the wan moon, a great big pearl set against a black sail. "I feel so alone…"

The rest of Dumbledore's words stuck in his throat, as he licked his lips and took a hasty swallow. He tasted copper, he tasted rust and dirt, a metallic tint…Dumbledore tasted dark magic in the air. He slipped out of his traveling cloak with a quick spin and unsheathed his wand with the speed of a younger man.

"Show yourself!"

Dumbledore kept his wand trained towards the Forbidden Forest, his blue eyes searching the murky shadows ahead. He whispered ancient words under his breath and a green misty vapor shot forth from his wand, sweeping low to the ground and floating quickly into the forest. After a few seconds a loud hissing noise sounded near a large oak tree and a green puff shot forth into the sky.

A low moan sounded from where the green puff had erupted. A weak and timid sound, a grievous wail, full of pain and hurt.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, deep concern etched on his wrinkled face.

* * *

Severus Snape lay abed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, with Madame Pomfrey fussing over him. She was trying to force feed him a spoonful of yellow liquid, but her patient was doing his best impression of a recalcitrant teenager and keeping his mouth shut.

"What happened Severus? Dumbledore didn't say anything last night. How can I help you recover if you won't tell me what caused such damage."

Snape struggled up to a sitting position and swung his skinny legs over the hospital bed. His milky white feet slowly eased onto the cold floor and he let out a gentle sigh. He slowly stretched his arms over his head, twisted his neck and arched his back, the bones loudly popping and cracking and giving him a moment of relief.

"A potions accident…slight mishap…concentration slipped…"

Madame Pomfrey arched her eyebrows, "I've never seen you make a mistake on any type of brewing, from a simple headache draught to a bowl full of Veritaserum."

When Snape refused to meet her eyes, the school nurse left the spoon on a small table near Snape and shuffled back to her office. Snape listened to the receding footsteps and when he heard a door shut, he closed his eyes and laid back on the bed. All he wanted to do was lay there and let the sheets swallow him up.

An hour later Snape had finally struggled into his school robes and was walking aimlessly about the castle, with no particular destination in mind. Sounds floated out to him – a pair of voices arguing about the British team's chances in the next Quidditch World Cup, someone with a high-pitched voice practicing incantations in a room adjacent to the school library, hearty laughter echoing from the Great Hall.

When Snape's feet came to a stop, he looked up and found himself staring at the trap door to the Astronomy Tower. He struggled up the steps and was soon out into the open air balcony and staring down at the school campus. A light breeze was blowing and he let it wash over him, cool and refreshing and full of life.

Snape limped over to the stone railing and perched atop a small spire, a large overgrown bat staring down on the world. He rolled up his left sleeve and stared down at the black snake etched upon his white skin, the indelible mark of the black legion. The snake had been angrily slithering only the day before…

* * *

_Crack!_ Snape felt the ground rush up to meet his spinning feet and he let out a small grunt of pain. A cacophony of sounds and smells assaulted his senses – he was standing in the middle of a busy intersection in London. He looked around and spied a street sign; Downing Street.

Busy Londoners gave him curious looks as they pushed past him during the evening rush hour. They all had people to meet and places to go, and had no patience for the strangely garbed man just standing there with a look of confusion on his face. I swear, the city's homeless problem is getting worse by the day!

Snape had never been to this intersection before, yet somehow he knew exactly where to go. He withdrew a small vial from his robes, emptied the contents down his throat with one gulp and headed towards a side street lined with glass storefronts. He pushed past curious eyes and inquisitive looks and entered a charming little store with a red awning and blue tinted windows.

The store door was a large glass rectangle with a gold frame and stenciled lettering – Rawson Bros. Suit & Particulars. The door jungled as Snape entered and the proprietors were nowhere in sight, the only occupants were white mannequins sporting bespoke suits and stylish pea coats.

Snape grabbed a somber black suit off a hangar and walked through the store showroom, past rows and rows of pressed suits, until he found himself at the dressing room stalls in the back. His feet carried him with a will of their own and led him to worn latticed door that creaked angrily when Snape slammed it shut. The dressing room had a small wooden bench, a pile of old pants and a streaked mirror that was showing wear and tear at its cracked edges.

Snape changed out of his robes and donned the black suit, which fit his reedy frame perfectly. He stared at himself in the mirror – sallow faced, hook nosed and a perpetual scowl. He walked closer to the mirror, and then closer still – he could see his skin had begun to take on a jaundiced twinge, his uneven yellow teeth chipped and worn. He moved even closer to the worn mirror, staring hard at the pores on his white skin…leaned in closer until his nose touched the mirror.

The mirror glass gave way like a viscous liquid and he jerked back; the liquid glass clung to his nose and stretched taut as he pulled his head further away, until the liquid glass finally slipped off him and swung back into the mirror. The mirror rippled like a disturbed lake surface, the waves becoming smaller and smaller until it finally settled down again to a smooth glass pane. Snape took a deep breath and stepped through, his left forearm tingling as liquid glass enveloped him.

Snape emerged from the portal and found himself in a large oval room with rich mahogany tables, plush chairs and oaken desks. There were balconies tracing the length of the round room, each one several feet higher than the one below it, with ladders connecting them. Thousands of books lined the walls and when Snape looked up he saw the ceiling was a beautiful glass dome, with filtered sunlight pouring through. The place reminded him of a distinguished library and a somber church, all at once.

Ahead of him were a few descending steps that led to a sunken alcove of clustered sofas, leather chairs, and small tables covered with jugs of wine, figs and cheeses. A group of people sat scattered about, dressed in pressed suits and elegant dresses, chatting and enjoying the accoutrements – a strange and twisted, high society cocktail party.

The chattering died down as Snape approached and no one greeted him warmly, or even acknowledged him at all. His old brothers and sisters eyed him with suspicion and gave him an icy reception of sullen silence. There were a few mutterings and grumbles as Snape took a seat, but before they could grow to a crescendo a shadow detached itself from a corner and scurried into view. Wormtail cleared off some books resting on a large, high backed leather chair facing the assembled patrons and then quietly took a seat.

The room fell silent and every eye was focused on the chair. The air grew hot and heavy, the very room itself trembled and the Dark Lord simply appeared in the chair, a serene look on his face. Snape found it bizarre sight to see Lord Voldemort not garbed in wizarding robes – the tall pale man was wearing a regal black suit, with a purple pocket square, purple tie and pea green cufflinks in the shape of vipers. A gold _S_ was pinned to his lapel, inlaid with small emerald crystals.

The suit could have made any man appear handsome, but a terrible grimace sat atop the purple tie. Skin white as snow, stretched taut and papery thin, it appeared to be a skull and not a human face. Slits for nostrils, a pointed nose, bald head and thin red slits for eyes. The whole ridiculous scene reminded Snape of a muggle movie he had watched as a child, Clockwork Orange. Was this all some bizarre experiment?

Lord Voldemort, the dark shadow from the past, raised his arms and greeted his soldiers, his followers, his dark sons and daughters.

"Welcome, to the fabled chapel of Hostra. You are what remains of my inner circle, my most trusted servants. I've thought long and hard about how to dutifully chastise you, or how to reward you. Sadly, none of the assembled here today deserves to be rewarded, for all you have betrayed me to some degree. None of you looked for me, none of you searched me out when I fell. Some of you went so far as to renounce my name in public, many returned to their pathetic former lives. Some of you even openly cavorted with the enemy.

"But all here have been forgiven, pardoned…given the rare gift of a second chance. There will not be a third. Some of you are sporting evidence upon your faces of the evidence of your punishment, others have suffered in silence…and still others did not survive my punishments. Take a look around, for we shan't be seeing those brothers and sisters again.

"But those of you seated here have done your penance and are part of my legion once again. Everyone here I've deemed worthy and am holding out a hand to lead you down the righteous dark path once again. But I will suffer no more failures or betrayals…and further deceit or incompetence will be met with a swift end!"

Snape felt a few eyes turn towards him, but he pretended to not notice. Lord Voldemort continued his speech with a reserved fury, slowly captivating his audience. The Dark Lord was equal parts terror and guile, able to cajole with threats of violence and motivate with promises of riches. Snape tried to listen attentively, whilst also keeping track of who was seated in the audience.

The Dark Lord laid out his plan to guide the wizarding world with an invisible hand. His agents were to go forth into society and resume their lives, they were to quietly recruit followers, to sow dissension among the ranks of the Ministry. A select few were to run for political office, and others still were to begin to collect sensitive information on their enemies. The most plum task of all was freeing the loyal Death Eaters still locked away in the North Sea, on the island of dread, and the Dark Lord chose his current favorites for that task.

Snape tried to concentrate on the Dark Lord's words, but his mind was restive and his thoughts floated to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts…and to Lily. No! She has no place here, was not welcome; she was the kryptonite to the Superman act he was trying to act achieve whenever he was in the Dark Lord's presence.

Sweat trickled along his brow as Snape fought to squelch unwanted memories from bubbling to the forefront of his mind. He squeezed his eyes tight, pushed the troubling images deep down inside and buttoned down the hatches, leaving them to wither and die away locked in the dark.

When Snape looked up he got the fright of his life, for his brothers and sister had vanished and only the Dark Lord remained, seated quietly on his high backed chair.

The Dark Lord was staring at him through his menacing crimson slits. The skeletal, snake-like countenance looked almost comical perched atop the crisp black suit, but the aura surrounding Lord Voldemort left no room for humor. Snape stared ahead, too scared to look directly at his Master, yet too sacred to pointedly look away.

The two wizards were the only ones left in the spacious oval room, two wizards who had killed their fathers, two wizards who were half-bloods, two wizards borne into poverty, two wizards who had ancient magical ancestors, two wizards who had performed amazing feats of dark magic…

A voice sounded in Snape's head, a rich timbre full of bravado and confidence and unstated violence. He looked up at the Dark Lord, whose serpentine face was still and whose lips unmoving, yet whose dark voice sounded clear as day.

"Severus you seem clouded and unsure of yourself. Are you still feeling wary after our…talk in the graveyard?"

"No, my Lord."

"What were you thinking about while I was speaking?"

"I was thinking…thinking about my past and the…the old fool."

"Ahh yes, your erstwhile Master. What does he think of you? I wonder…"

"He believes I'm forever his, he believes that light resides in me. That is his biggest weakness, my Lord. He trusts me implicitly."

"And he also believes that I trust you completely. Is that not so Severus?"

"He does."

"Tell me the truth!"

"He does believe that, my Lord, but he also believes you are a…cautious man."

"I'm no man!"

"Yes, my Lord. I mean, no, my Lord."

Snape held his gaze resolutely, staring deeply into the crimson slits without blinking. Soon his eyes began to burn and stale tears floated in them, but he still refused to turn away. He felt a light breeze wash over him and knew there was someone else in his mind.

"I've forgiven you Severus, but Lord Voldemort never forgets. I've known since we first met you had light in you, has it come to consume you now? Are you regretting coming back to me that night?"

"No, my Lord. I've never forgotten how the world treated me in the past."

"I've no wish to play games with you Severus. I will not coerce or threaten you, promise you earthly treasures or bestow upon you gifts of the flesh. I know that you are not like the others, I know that it is not what you crave – let us speak plainly."

"I would welcome such frank talk, my Lord."

"Lord Voldemort has no need for more sycophants or bootlickers. I've enough greedy flies buzzing around me in supplication and far too few intelligent ones. My destiny has been preordained Severus, my place in history is secure – the only remaining question is who will be by my side when I rise to rule. I believe that you can once again become useful to me, regain your place as a trusted servant yet again…"

The words felt so reassuring and sweet, Snape remembered how warm they had once made him feel. It was nice to be wanted, to be needed, to be trusted with a position of power. Snape could feel the loquacious voice charming him and evoking unspoken threats all at the same time. But he had walked the dark path once before and knew the ruin it left in its wake, knew the blood debt it had extracted from him. Still, it was so inviting…there's no harm in playing along and listening…

"…I need servants who possess a modicum of the vision I am blessed with." The Dark Lord rose from his seat and slowly walked about the room, meandering a twisted path to the seated Snape. The skeletal face was still an impenetrable mask, but the silky voice continued to sound loudly in Snape's mind.

"But make no mistake, while I seek the support of my servants and at times even seek their counsel, I alone command the Death Eaters. I still require unquestioned and unflinching obedience and will dole out punishment as I see fit. But it will never been haphazard or unwarranted, I mean to rule with a just and even hand. It will not be an easy road to wizarding freedom and helping our kind rise from the shadows, but nothing worth a damn is easy."

"I agree, my Lord. I just…I want to find a place in your army once again and serve – too long we've cowered to the muggles."

"You have a gift with words, you say what I want to hear, but how can I trust you again? Do you remember when I gave you that?"

Lord Voldemort was looking up at the glass dome ceiling, but Snape's Dark Mark erupted with heat. Snape let out a low growl and grabbed at his left forearm.

"Yes, my Lord. I still dream of that night on the beach, the night my purgatory ended and my life truly began."

"The branding is a painful process, a piece of ancient magic binds you to me. The Dark Mark is a living, breathing thing Severus; it can ferret out deceit and treachery. It can consume a wizard alive if there too much light in him, roast him alive within his own skin."

"I know, my Lord. I remember what you told me that night."

"There's light in you Severus, long dormant but there it resides. Is that now your true essence?"

"No, my Lord. This is only the mask I show the world, the face I show the old fool."

The Dark Lord melted in front of Snape's eyes from a few feet away and appeared right in front of him, a towering menace. A dark priest ready to hear the sins of one of his malefactors.

"I can show you true magic, ancient and powerful. I want to trust you Severus. I want you back _into the fold_. I want to give you your rightful place beside your brothers and sisters."

"I want that more than anything, my Lord. Give me a task and let me set about it. I'm still loyal, I swear it…I've no love for the old fool…"

"He will lead you down a path of destruction and ruin. I remember what you told me of how he treated you as a student, the favoritism he showed others, the prejudiced he showed towards you. He uses people and then throws them away. He's a cunning spider, spinning his long web, moving his pieces around the board. He's no love for you, he's simply using you to get to me. Do you see now?"

Snape's eyes slipped out of focus and his breath became ragged as his head was filled with troubling images. "Yes, my Lord. I see…"

"Why sell your soul to the devil if he does not honor his side of the bargain? Don't let the wizarding world continue to be relegated to the shadows, don't abet the muggles in their atrocities. Don't let the weak continue to live in fear…don't let others suffer the unjust fate that befell your beloved mother."

Lord Voldemort leaned down to within inches of Snape's face, his hot sticky breath licking the pale skin. The potions master eyes had turned to cloudy cataracts, his mouth was agape and spittle had begun to spill onto his chin. The Dark Lord gently exhaled and a red silken mist left his mouth and floated into Snape's eyes.

"Help me raise wizards and witches from the muck. Help them rise. Avenge your mother, avenge your fallen brethren. Become the Dark Knight the weak deserve and the craven fear."

"Yes, my Lord." The familiar refrain sounded over and over in Snape's head, the words escaped from his lips of their own volition, his new mantra. "Yes, my Lord."

* * *

"Yes, my Lord."

"My Lord? Severus, are you alright?" McGonagall reached out a worried arm and pulled Snape away from the Astronomy Tower balcony railing. He looked up at her with cloudy eyes, mumbling something intelligible. She shook him with all her strength.

"Severus! My word, are you all right?"

Snape eyes slowly came back into focus, along with his senses. He pulled away from his colleague and spit out bits of red dust from his mouth.

"What is it Minerva? What's wrong?"

She stared at him with motherly worry and a nervous look, but when she spoke her voice was steady, "It's the child. Dementors attacked him at his home and the Ministry has expelled the boy. The bloody fools have thrown him out of Hogwarts!"


	45. Sow and So Shall You Reap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer has come to an end.

**Chapter 45**

**Sow and So Shall You Reap**

Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his office staring at a blank piece of parchment, in stark juxtaposition to the clamor ringing around his office. The portraits lining his office walls were shouting amongst each other, his fireplace flashed green in constant intervals and owls continued to sweep in through an open window, two at a time, dropping letters all over the floor.

Dumbledore gave the parchment one last look and then scribbled four simple words in large capital letters. He calmly folded the paper into perfectly measured thirds and placed it inside a scarlet red envelope. He then attached the message to an excited owl, whispered – _4 Privet Drive_ – and gave the furry ball a reassuring pat on the head. The bird gave a squeak of delight and zoomed out of the open window just as the office door banged open and Minerva McGonagall rushed in, with Severus Snape doggedly at her heels.

"Albus, I've found him! He was perched up at his favorite hideaway."

"Thank you Minerva, now if I could ask you to rouse the rest of the Order."

"At once," McGonagall breathed and swept soundlessly from the room.

Snape stared in shock at the all the commotion and then fastened his gaze on the famous Headmaster. "What's going on? He's been thrown out? I hadn't heard a whisper of any such attack from my…friends."

"I fear that we have more enemies that only the servants of Lord Voldemort. Fear and mistrust are also worthy adversaries to our cause."

"So who's behind such a reckless attack?"

"I've some ideas, but now is not the time for such questions. I must, once again, ask you for a favor."

"What is it now?"

"I'm afraid the time has come for me to take a step back from the boy…and I want you to take my place."

"I don't understand, step back?"

"The connection between Harry and the Dark Lord has been growing since this summer and I believe that it will continue to do so, no matter what precautions we take."

"Why are they connected? I still don't understand."

"I believe that among Harry's many gifts is a unique ability – an ability to detect the Dark Lord's presence, even when he's disguised, to know that he's feeling at any particular moment, to even see into his mind. I believe that this ability will only become more pronounced in the future and it is for this reason that I must keep my distance from the child."

"I still don't…"

"I believe that the Dark Lord will eventually discover this connection for himself and try to burrow into Harry's mind, to control him from within and attempt to use him as a weapon. I must therefore keep my distance and not provide any further incentive. Severus, I want you to become the boy's teacher."

Snape gave Dumbledore an incredulous look and replied with a sardonic smile, "I already am his teacher."

Dumbledore pushed himself up from his desk and stood beside the open window, a benevolent God looking down on his rightful domain. He answered Snape with a faraway look in his blue eyes, "I want you to become a true mentor to the boy, to give him the strength and skills to protect his most precious gift…his mind. I want you to teach your most exceptional and powerful talent, that which comes so easy to you."

"He lacks the discipline and fortitude to master the mysteries of the human mind."

"Harry is stronger than you know. He has to be."

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks sat quietly at a heavily laden dinner table, quite pleased with herself. A few years ago she had been a clumsy teenager with mediocre school markets and not too many bright prospects for her future, yet now here she was, a trained Auror and a newly minted member of the Order of the Phoenix. She wiggled her nose in delight and her short, spiky hair changed from a vivid pink hue to a dark red color.

Sitting around the dinner table with Tonks were Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Sirius Black, Arthur Weasley, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Hestia Jones and Albus Dumbledore – a large contingent of the Order of the Phoenix were meeting at their headquarters.

No one was speaking and everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Scrumptious food and sweet mead lay upon the table – meat bolognese, stuffed Cornish hen, smashed potatoes with cheese, goose stuffed with apples, sliced pork sandwiches and strawberry shortcake – yet the culinary feast lay untouched. The air was heavy with worry and Tonks seemed to be the only bright presence in the room.

A door creaked open in the distance and floorboards moaned as footsteps approached the assembled group. A few moments later a darkly robed figure with a stringy frame entered the room, with a red hood and a green mask that resembled a smiling skull. Everyone in the room watched as the figure slowly reached into his robes, withdrew a long, wooden wand and held it to his mask. The skull melted away and in its place there appeared a dark, greasy mop of hair and prominent nose – Severus Snape had come calling.

Snape stared out at the sea of faces and felt a cold hand squeeze his heart. He swallowed down a lump that had spring up in his throat and fought to control his emotions. Each look from the crowd held a mixture of disgust, loathing and scorn – the ungrateful bastards.

The intensity of meeting with the Dark Lord and his minions and then having to race back to Grimmauld Place and deliver a report to openly hostile wizards and witches was enough to break any man. There was no respite for Snape as he bounced from enemy to enemy, everyone's personal lap dog. He stole a glance at Dumbledore and steeled himself for the coming onslaught.

"Where have you been? We've been waiting for hours!"

Snape glanced in the direction of his lifelong enemy, and then turned to address the other side of the table. "Sorry to have disturbed your precious sleep, but some of us aren't beholden to cleaning schedules."

Sirius started to fire back, but held his tongue as Dumbledore raised his hand. "Please continue Severus."

"As far as I can tell, the Dark Lord…"

"Lord Voldemort you mean!"

Snape's left arm gave an involuntary twitch, but other than that he showed no sign that he had heard the interruption, "…and his Death Eaters had no role in the Dementor attack or the subsequent expulsion hearing. While it's true there are dark servants within the Ministry, the Dark Lord has yet to penetrate Fudge's inner circle."

"I can support Severus' claims on that front," said Arthur. "No one close to the Minister seems to be under the hold of an Imperius spell."

"I think this bizarre behavior is borne from Fudge's fear of losing his office and the associated political support", interjected Shacklebolt.

At once the room filled with voices, with Order members all opining on everything from Fudge's bedroom habits to the likelihood the Minister himself was under a curse. Snape stepped back into shadows and caught Dumbledore's eye, forging a connection.

"The Minister is a fat, slothful fool, but he's no dark servant," thought Snape.

Dumbledore's voice responded in Snape's head. "The Minister seems to fear me more than the Dark Lord himself."

"Lucius believes that Fudge can be manipulated through his fear of losing his position as Minister, but I'm not privy to those plans. I've been tasked with helping to recruit elder students at Hogwarts to the dark cause."

"I trust you'll make no real progress on that front."

"I swear that the Dementor attack did not come from within the dark circle."

"Then that only leaves one conclusion…"

"Yes?"

"We'll have to fight this war on two fronts, we can no longer count the Ministry itself as a friend."

"I've had enough tonight, I want to go home Dumbledore."

"Take your leave Severus, I'll relay what you've said."

"Warn Kingsley that he's about to be targeted for recruitment."

"Thank you once again for…", but before Dumbledore could express his gratitude Snape had quietly melted into the hallway. Dumbledore looked out across the table, dissenting opinions still flying about the air. It seemed everyone had something to say on the topic of Cornelius Fudge, everyone except the young one – Tonks only had eyes for the raggedy man sitting next to her.

Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile as he began to rise from his seat and call for order.

* * *

Snape crossed the threshold of the glum entrance to his house on Spinner's End, and instinctively looked towards the bottom bannister of the house stairs, where dark spot still clouded the wood. The dilapidated house held many horrible memories for him, but it still held a dear place in his heart. Whatever terrors he had been subjected to as a boy, they were extinguished now and one always had a longing for their childhood home.

Snape shrugged out of his damp traveling cloak and left it in a dirty clump by the front door as he headed for the kitchen. He half-heartedly made himself a cheese and caviar sandwich and poured himself a tall glass of red cabernet. He settled into a worn chair next to his kitchen table and stared blankly at the lonely meal.

Snape's pupils were bloodshot and the circles under his eyes had grown bigger as of late. Shuttling to and fro sudden Death Eater and Order meetings, constantly watching over his shoulder, terrified that his treachery may be uncovered at any moment – there was never a moment's peace.

He lived each day as if a heavy anvil hung over his head by a thin wire, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Snape reached a shaking hand into his pocket and removed a small glass vial. He poured a viscous green liquid into his wine glass and watch as sweet smelling steam lazily drifted up from the cup.

He swirled the glass around and watched the red and green slowly mix and envelop together, finally taking a long swallow and leaning back in his chair. He balanced on the chair legs and closed his eyes as the potion coursed through him.

"Dependent on drugs to get you through the day?"

Snape's eyes snapped opened in fright at the loud voice that sounded from within his own kitchen. He began to lose his balance as he tilted on the back of his chair legs, wildly reaching his arms out to grasp onto anything, but there was only air for him to catch. The Dark Lord materialized out of thin air in front of him and Snape stared in shock at a gleaming white skull as he fell backwards and slammed his head into the kitchen linoleum.

Vigorously rubbing the back of his head, Snape shook the blinking stars from his eyes and scrambled up to one knee, bowing before his lord.

"I need my soldiers to be of clear mind and body, not swimming in a haze of narcotics."

"My Lord, how did you…yes my Lord, I only take them as a precautionary measure."

"Do not lie to me!"

Snape kept his head bowed, too frightened to look up. He had always thought of his home as a protected sanctuary, a refuge, a place where no one would dare, or care, to visit. The one place he could just be himself, with no walls or masks or pretense. He had believed his magical protections were secure, his enchantments impenetrable…how naïve he was.

"What did the old fool have to say?"

"He believed what I fed him. He thinks we are responsible for the attack on the boy and that You have the power to bend the Dementors to your will."

"So even he does not know who sent them?"

"No, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort did not speak for so long that Snape thought perhaps he had been left alone, yet he dared not look up. He stared at a crack in the floor so hard his eyes began to water and a spasm grabbed ahold of his neck. Just as the silence grew to an unbearable crescendo the Dark Lord spoke.

"Rise."

"Yes, my lord."

"You've given me no cause to doubt you Severus, and yet there are some of your brothers and sisters who whisper doubts about your fealty."

"Jealousy spawns lies my Lord"

"Perhaps another tour of your mind is required to satisfy my curiosity?"

Snape looked into the dark sunken pits of Lord Voldemort's scarlet eyes. Another rape of his mind was almost too much for him to bear, he did not know if he possessed the strength to again go through the mind interrogation he had suffered in that forlorn graveyard earlier that summer. Snape was not a religious man, but he prayed to any God that may have been listening to spare him.

Lord Voldemort stared impassively at the weary man and then sneered, or maybe it was a smile. A pink tongue flicked out and Lord Voldemort licked his lips, reminding Snape of a wolf just before biting into his meal.

"If that is what is needed. Anything, my Lord."

"Lord Voldemort is not petty or without mercy Severus, you of all people should know that. You've hoodwinked the old fool and informed me of the Order's movements all summer, valuable information indeed."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Tonight I come not to take, but to give."

"I only live to serve."

"You do not wish to receive my gift."

"I…I do, my Lord."

"Enjoy yourself. And come to me next week before the opening school feast."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And do away with these juvenile enchantments. All that is yours is mine, don't forget."

_Crack!_ Lord Voldemort vanished in twirl of his robes. Snape had believed he had made it impossible for anyone, even himself, to apparate within his house, but it seemed there was nothing even a weakened Lord Voldemort could not do.

Snape looked around the kitchen, but could only find his pathetic meal; there was no gift. He breathed a sigh of relief and sent his thanks to the heavens that he had escaped so easily.

Snape finished the rest of the sedative laced wine and took a small bite of his sandwich. His appetite was never that large, but of late he eschewed food and only had a taste for liquor and tranquillizers.

He slowly made his way up his rickety stairs and to his bedroom on the second floor. He gently closed his bedroom door and lifted his robe over his head, tossing it into a corner. He then eyed his naked chest in a full length mirror that hung from the inside of his closet door.

His pale skin stretched tight over his rail thin body, he could make out every rib and bone on his face. His eyes traced old scars that lined his shoulders and stomach, he ran one finger across his chest and felt every cut he had ever taken. Physical appearance had never meant much to Snape, but even he could see how pitiful his figure had become.

Movement flashed behind him in the mirror and he instinctively dove towards his discarded robe in the corner. When he spring to his feet, his wand was gripped tightly in his hand and pointed at a woman standing quietly by his bed. She looked neither scared nor aggressive, neither confused nor worried – instead she wore a look as though it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be standing there.

Snape was dumbfounded, no one but him had ever been in his bedroom, and he felt the blood rush to his face, red blotches color his neck and cheeks. Shame permeated throughout his body, shame at his bent posture, his wretchedly skinny frame and threadbare furnishings of his bedroom.

Snape became acutely aware of the faded and peeling bedroom wallpaper, the scuffed vanity and mirror streaked with grime hanging behind him. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not changed the sheets on his bed in months and he became aware of a moldy smell in the air that he had never noticed before.

He wanted to yell at this woman, to let the anger flow through him and scream at the top of his lungs. He wanted to throw things at her, smash her pretty little face. Get away from me! You don't belong here! Leave my house!

Instead, Snape lowered his wand stared at the beautiful creature standing before him. Her skin was as stark white as his, but where his would be considered pale, hers would most certainly be considered silky. She had luscious lips, a perfect nose and wavy, dirty blonde hair. He slender fingers ended perfectly manicured nails, dimples lined her cheeks and her green robe hugged her lithe figure in all the right places.

She began to undo the laces on her robe and slowly pulled it over her head. Underneath she was as naked as the day she was born, with no hint of awkwardness or embarrassment. The gorgeous woman stepped out of the shadows and slowly got under the covers of Snape's bed.

She then quietly stared at Snape, not with revulsion or disgust, but with a curiosity that bore no ill will.

She stared at Snape with a practiced patience and heartfelt interest.

She stared at Snape with big, dark, deep emerald eyes and waited for the wounded animal to come crawling to her.


End file.
